


Our Love

by Xxdamnedforeverxx



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xxdamnedforeverxx/pseuds/Xxdamnedforeverxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Complete development through Russian-American relations. RusAme and side UsUk and pRus. Smut and historical OCD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loving Strangers

Alfred F. Jones, the personification of the American colonies, stepped foot on British ground for the first time since childhood one chilly autumn afternoon. He clutched his worn leather coat tightly but did not shiver, frozen nights on the unforgiving American coast had cured him of showing signs he was cold. One was not thought of well if he were to complain about such trivial things. But he could not deny the want to shake at the sight of the English port he had arrived in. Seeing his brother's land evoked sadness and restlessness for the first time. People were beginning to talk blasphemy at home and many had valid points. His brother did not treat them the way he should. The choice between his people and the man that raised him lay heavily upon his young mind. A deep weary sigh departed his chapped lips as he moved on down the harbor out into the streets of London.

İt was time to move on to business. The reason he was back in his father country, he reinforced in his mind, was to visit William Penn, the owner of the District of Pennsylvania. He needed to straighten out this Ford business that was making his stomach quite frankly, queasy. Penn needed to return home soon. Unfeeling stone houses passed by, newer than those of his own country, to the credit of the Great Fire, before he met the stony welcoming face of his intended man. Now he was reminded of how much he really admired this human. He was nothing short of intriguing, his ideas revolutionary.

Penn greeted him with faint surprise upon the dreary cobble streets. They shook hands firmly and Alfred again thought of his love for the man. There was no head bowing or removal of the black hat upon his head. Penn had no betters, not even a nation or king. The French dressed Englishman beckoned him to accompany him to his previous destination that the colony had intercepted him on his way to. The real estate worker was to visit the famed Tsar Peter of Russia in the mansion the King had allotted for him during his stay out on the outskirts of London. America heartily agreed in hopes of a chance to speak at length with him. So they set off, arm in arm, towards the residence of a Russian that would inconceivably shape the colony's future for centuries after. After a few blocks they boarded a cheap cab in which to ride comfortably.

The cab did not arrive at the destination until nigh on sunset. İt was not in good order, what with broken banisters, littered porches, and cracked windows. The two westerners could hardly accept that any sort of royalty nor gentleman ought to reside here, but were proven wrong when a noble came to welcome them in relatively passable English, slurred as it was by the effects of bottle clearly ailing the man. Both looked aghast at the interior in shambled disarray. The damage done was mind boggling. What did these Russian Elites do in their spare time? The house appeared to be run by barbarians intent on monstrous dallying and destruction of such fine architectural work. Strange faced Russian nobles seemed to congregate toward the large front parlor we were want to head to.

Now for the 'King of All Kings' in question, there was no doubt his nobility. The moment he surged forward to steal away the colony's companion, his confidence and utter surety shone blindingly through each breath and twitch of the body. This was a man who got what he wanted and fought for what he was not handed on a silver platter. Bordering on selfishly self-righteous, he was a charismatic force to be reckoned with. He sat back comfortably in his plush chair at the head of a small table and pulled William with him without caution of sending him careening off his balance. The Gentleman could hardly make comfortable his seat before the Tsar launched into an interrogation of sorts.

Penn's time was solely claimed by Pyetr of Russia whom was inquiring upon every topic available; politics, houses, the trade market, ships, philosophy, modernization, anatomy, industrialization in the Americas, and religion. Rather than be angry with the Quaker for insolence, the Tsar was absorbed in all the differences he found to be fascinating. The great foreign man was fallen to drink as well, for supply bottles were never slack. His breath that flowed under his dark moustache smelt of wine and a hard liquor Alfred did not recognize. Of all the strange men he had known, this man was the strangest. Penn seemed to be almost appalled by and drawn to Peter. He readily gave ear to all the English-American had to say but chose what he liked to remember and appreciate. He was worse than the monarch. He was a Tsar of absolute whimsical power.

Then the great dark eyes fastened with the blonde colony's in recognition. "A, what is the term... Personification!" he shouted deeply in delight at his discovery. The man attacked him with a barrage of pointed questions about his health, life, and interactions with his colony. Once sated in knowledge acquired he called out into the house and a man dressed in strictly European style appeared from the recesses of the ruined establishment.

The two knew the moment eye contact was made who the other was. The Russian Empire, a young silvery haired man in his early twenties, was unable to tear his gaze from the teenage blonde he knew to be the American colony, though his Tsar begged his attentions. Violet to sky blue affixed to one another during the ignored introductions. Then, in a fateful strike, the humans bade them get to know each other while they finished exchanging ideas.

Neither knew what they were doing. They went out to the back porch to stand in the crisp open air away from the bog of human social restraints. The quiet night breeze flicked the elder's scarf behind him in a graceful dance. "My name is Ivan Braginsky, Russian Empire." the violet eyed man spoke carefully. Even his name had no accent to it and Alfred had the overwhelming feeling of sympathy for him. He knew what it was like to be dragged undertow of a greater force. Britain made sure he was the right image and then pounded him down afterward. He knew the pain.

The sixteen year old smiled softly. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, Britain's American Colony" But i want to be just America, independent and free, he wanted to confide. He knew this man would understand. So he told him about all the new things he was learning, hoping the elder Empire would smile and pat his shoulder and agree. Though Ivan agreed with many things, he could not entertain the notion of revolution any more than America at the time. He seemed to really believe, with some personal reservations, that his Tsar was doing something wonderful and he had all trust in the Russian monarchy to lead his people. Yet unmistakable was the small twinkle in his eye when Alfred bespoke of the unrest at home, those colonists itching for freedom and emancipation from the English. Ivan would not verbally convey his fancy of the concept but it was understood it struck somewhere within him. "I know not what it is like; to be completely free… The proposition is almost too exciting." Jones admitted.

The two held hands, almost unconsciously gravitating closer. They were so alike, yet going on such divergent paths. So different and beautiful. The taller Russian bent over slowly as the ambitious American reached up and their lips connected like a ghost of a touch. Then firmer as they wound closer. The pale man was warmed invariably by the sunny colony tenderly embracing him. His cold hands carded through blonde unruly locks of hair that he wanted so badly to know the warmth of. They pulled away before the frozen empire could melt into the kiss. There was so much sunshine around him. Not the light of Enlightenment, Europeanization, the sun, or summer. No, Alfred gave Ivan the sunshine of life. The Russian slowly began to smile until Alfred laughed at his rusty expression. He loved that free jingle, he decided, he would smile all the time to hear that heartening sound.

Ivan only barely caught his fast beating heart as it fell out of his chest. The blood stained his pristine white sleeves. Alfred's blue eyed clouded over and grew watery and Ivan readied himself to cringe at the fear he was sure would come. Then, to their surprise, the American laid a small kiss to the organ and carefully put it back in the Russian's chest. No further words were spoken that night. Just one more kiss before staring at the moon knowing their closeness that felt so right would be gone soon. The feeling that was so strange and wonderful and despairing and intriguing and indescribable would come to an end before its rise to climax.

William Penn departed thinking much to himself about the strangeness of Russia, much as Alfred was, before seeing off the colony that had come to see him. Though he tried to speak sense to Penn there was naught but grunts in response. He found nothing of interest in Alfred's words and paid his voyage back for the morning after. Thus ended the beautiful meeting that began a tumultuous relationship neither would forget. "Goodbye, friend Jones, have a safe return."

Years later, when Washington led Americans against British soldiers on American soil for Independence and Catherine the Great was Tsar over Russia, all the world was spinning for the newly deigned United Stated of America. But never once did he need search for comfort during the hardships. Only France helped his cause openly and the world seemed against him. But one other, he knew, held him dear. Ivan Braginsky, Russian Empire. Dear Tsar Catherine kept neutral trade with them through the whole war. A blessing on them. Then, during the times he was physically ripped in two from within during the Civil War, Russia did not attack him. No one did. He did not see his far removed friend again until World War 1 when again the world was plunged into chaos. But they were still the same humans behind the nations.


	2. Forgotten

The Great War is at hand. The year is 1917 and it seems the troubles are bound to be laid on America as well. All around him his people are trying to rejoice in the darkest of times. It must hurt having so many fears. Joints were everywhere. Militaristic leaders thrived in Germany, taking away freedom and basic right. The Germans were sinking neutral American ships. What happened to that great dream of a clean and safe place for children? Even the politicians themselves had fallen behind the law. Even their great country had become accustomed to heroin-induced parties.

Yes, at this minute Alfred Freedom Jones was sleeping off a night of drugs, hooch, and flappers. The way his dry mouth gaped open like the empty wallet thrown on the floor was saddening. He could have stayed at the White House but Alfred only felt contempt for government right now. Those crazy citizens he had spent the night dancing with were his Americans. The humans trying to escape into a sequined glamorous night life filled with sex and jazz. Boy, life was a bit of a downer.

The dark blonde groaned softly as he pushed himself up on his elbows on the soiled bed. He must have thrown up again, he thinks blinking a few times as he works his jaw. There's a bad taste in his mouth. It takes a few minutes before he can actually roll out of bed for a shower. The water in the apartment is not as hot as he would like. Or is it too hot? Frankly, he cannot tell. The only thing he knows is the incessant pounding in his skull as he gets out is driving him crazy with pain.

Clad in nothing but a towel in the late morning sun filtering in from behind the drapes, he takes a moment to breathe steadily. A suit. Alfred needs to find his suit. There was something important the boss wanted to talk about today. The gray suit or striped? Applesauce! He would have a damn easier time if his head stopped throbbing so hard it shook the door! ... Wait, the door?

The American quickly pulls on the first suit he can lay his meat hooks on and rushes to open the door. Two BOI agents give him matching looks of chastisement. "Mr. Jones, we have been waiting in the fliver for you to come down. You did not forget about today, did you?" the first one asked flatly. No humor there.

Alfred peeked around him as he finished buttoning his vest. The car sat waiting right down the stairs with an equally impatient third agent in the driver's seat. What was it again he had to do today? "Of course not, boys. I just had a time with a bearcat last night and could not be bothered. You should have seen those gams!" he laughed boisterously. "Come on, we haven't all day!" a gray hat placed on his head was all he needed to lock up the apartment and fly down the stairs.

Inside the car, the first agent looked skeptically at him. "Would you like one of us to escort the dame home or are you comfortable having her in your rooms alone?" he asked.

America pulled a smile. "I thought I was going to be late. But I promise you can have the broad at a more appropriate time" besides, she already left with the cash in my pocket. Who wouldn't have?

The agent cleared his throat awkwardly and tapped on the glass to let the driver know to lay rubber. Alfred mentally congratulated himself on efficiently closing conversation for the ride to the big house. Now if only he could remember what he was going there for. Did Woodrow mention why? Didn't matter. The answer would be shown soon enough when he got there. The gates were already opening to a candidly smiling president awaiting the fliver's approach.

"Ah, good morning, Jones" the man beckoned to him as the agents opened the car door. "Looking sharp as expected" Alfred took his hand firmly and gave him his all-American grin as he let himself be ushered in up to the Oval Office.

Attendants bowed their heads and uttered formal greetings to the two official men that strode by. "How are things holding up, Woody?" America asked when the doors were finally shut behind them.

Cut off from guards and the public eye, the president's face set into a grim line. He was nothing short of an overly worn human after all. "I fear many things. One of the most being that we may have to enter the Great War, but it will not take long, or so I am led to think. It shall be a very difficult thing to do. I have already put up the Armament of Merchantmen for approval and severed political ties with Germany." Wilson informed him as he collapsed into the chair behind his desk. A small shot glass was pulled and first offered to the nation, then downed when it was refused.

Ah, that was a good reason to call him up here, but surely not all. Wilson had always personally been on the Entente side of the matter and wouldn't just call him up for an opinion talk. "It saddens me the European war has come to include us. Though I have no reservations on account of your actions against this threat. Germany is encroaching upon our freedom with the Open Submarine Warfare Campaign and the butchery of government over there." the blonde agreed perching himself on the edge of the presidential desk.

"I am relieved you agree, Jones." Wilson sighed in concurrence with his words. Then he leaned back in his chair to look the nation in the eye. İt seemed strange having such an older dignified political gentleman giving such respect to a boy who looked like he should still be in senior classes in high school, but the blonde nation had lived through far much more than the tired President. "I need you to attend our Associate Force's meetings, beginning as soon as possible, to not only smooth our way in but to introduce my 14 Point Plan. We can only hope that we may get it ingrained into their heads early on for if we win the war."

"You mean, when we win the war."

Woodrow Wilson looked up in confusion. "Come again?"

"I said," Alfred smirked haughtily. "For when we win the war. Do not even put an 'if' in there. İ will go meet our Triple Entente friends immediately." Here the president began happily thanking him before he was cut off. "On one condition"

The politician cast a skeptic look at him. "And that condition being..?" he asked not understanding the snag in the plan.

America leaned in close to tap the president's worry lined forehead in a comical gesture that caused the older appearing man to fluster. "Tonight you will get a full eight hours of sleep. İ cannot have a man running my country who can hardly keep his eyes open. All Jake?" he proposed well naturedly.

"We have a deal, Alfred Jones." the president chuckled in a rare moment of humor. "We have a deal. Talk to Mr. Smith outside the door and he will arrange for your departure when you are ready."

Smirking as he began walking out the door, he said: "Then he should be jazzed that I am leaving immediately!"

 

The United States of America did not have the warm welcome he would have liked but, under the circumstances, he could forgive his former guardian for such gruff treatment. Britain was frankly haggard looking. His bushy eyebrows were knit even closer than usual over his red rimmed eyes as he grouched about everything. "And, by god, speak the King's English as I taught you, Alfred! Your tongue is disgraceful." Britain finished after his former colony made an agreeable comment in apparently not so agreeable slang. Honestly, the man had his own slang too. American slang must be a different matter, America assumed lightheartedly.

He smiled gently and patted Arthur's uniformed shoulder. "Yes sir, Arty, as you say." he chuckled when the English Nation sputtered angrily at the nick name. "Um, was I right in assuming Imperial Russia is camped here with you?" Alfred asked talking over Arthur's lecture on bad behavior.

The Briton huffed, looking past his shoulder to an adjoining encampment that looked very different from the Islander's. It was a bit... Furrier and tattered, you could put it. The conical tents had a very downcast feel about them is all. "I would say yes, but I have not seen him in one and twenty days. Though he is probably still in the center command tent. Why, are you eager to meet with him?" Arthur pinned him with a suspicious eye. Or a jealous one. How cute that his adopted big brother still felt possessive, he snickered dourly.

"Should I not make certain I greet my allies on the first day?" he shot back with an amused smirk.

Arthur twitched silently for a moment before throwing up his hands in exasperation. "It is bloody well fine by me but," here he stopped to point solemnly at the teenager. "Be careful. Russia has shot his own people, who were unarmed and peacefully protesting. He is not any better than he was in '05. Simply put, he is a nation on a fault line." Britain finished in warning tone. The silence stretched impressively putting down the mood for a moment.

"Pfft, Arty, you sure did lay it on me!" America cracked up causing the elder to storm off, the implied tension broken by the idiot.

"Bah! Just make sure Latvia does not shoot you on your way in!" he shouted before disappearing into his teepee-looking tent. "Harrumph, Associate Force my arse!"

Latvia? Who was that..? America smiled as he sauntered his way through the Russian cluster to the large headquarters kind of set up they had. He could not help but mull over what Britain had said: Russia bumping off his own citizens like that. Would the awkwardly shy guy he remembered from London all those decades ago do that? The one that could not entertain the idea of revolution. He himself had doubted independence back then, but it happened. Would Russia not have changed too? His own unarmed protestors... He had heard of them invading Russia too. So the scoffed term of ally was understandable but- "horse feathers!"

A loud shot sounded as a bullet sped right past his nose causing him to cry out. What in God's name? "Who did that?" he shouted frantically searching for the shooter. It took a few long seconds of not spotting any hidden men before he finally said anything more. "I am going to guess that it was Latvia. Show yourself!"

"State your business at the Captain's quarters." commanded a firm voice from thin air.

The American grimaced. "I am the United States of America. Now show yourself or else!" he growled fingering his own gun. This Latvia must be some tough case loony to act like this, he decided.

After a long hesitation that almost had Alfred shouting at his invisible antagonist again, a blonde mop of hair popped out of nowhere with a rifle still trained on him. "Leave your weapon outside please, Mr. America. Пoжoлуста." he said shaking a little despite his very even tone.

For a moment Alfred stood still before bursting into laughter. The Latvian became even more unsure of himself, or rather of the sanity of the newcomer, but never swayed in aim. "Boy, you are just a boy! I cannot believe a kid shot at me!" he cracked up setting his gun on the ground next to the entrance flap. Only then did Latvia lower his own.

The boy seemed to take offense to the laughter. "I am 13 physically, Mr. America, but hardly a child compared to humans." Latvia bristled halfheartedly. It seemed he lost a lot of steam when there was not a clear threat anymore. "But you may now go in. Master Russia is the only one in at the moment so you should have an audience with him..." he gave permission, gesturing to the entrance.

"Thanks, kid!" America smiled stifling the rest of his ill-timed giggles. He brushed aside the flap and let it separate him from the indignant shooter.

Inside was rather dim. Only one or two lanterns were lit by a study added to the filtering light through the fabric of the tent that lent its shading powers indoors. Grim place, really. He almost missed the hulking figure in the corner approaching him.

"Privet, komrade. May I help you?" came a falsetto from right next to him. Alfred jumped and ripped his eyes from the room to a nostalgic violet gaze.

"Russia! You people intent on scaring the dickens out of me?" he gasped trying to quell his fast beating heart.

The sandy blonde paused a moment in confusion and grabbed his chin, forcing Alfred to turn his face side to side. Then his face lit in recognition and joy. "Amerika? You have grown up so much, da?" Russia smiled childishly.

America chuckled as the grip did not loosen. "It has been a while, I admit. I got taller but you still tower over me." and now you have a creepy voice, was left out.

"It would not work any other way~" the giant Russian chuckled letting go of the American with a pat of the cheek. "Sit and share a drink with me, Amerika." he invited moving to take a chair at the table. He promptly pulled out a tall bottle and set it in the middle of a pile of maps.

Alfred sat down across from him to accept the offer. He smiled at the happy looking Russia but could not help but feel confused. The joy looked so forced. Like any minute he would rip off the smiling mask and yell 'fooled you! I am Satan!' or something of that nature. Or reveal he was an alien in Russia's skin, planning world domination. That would be scary.

His silly train of thought was cut off when Russia uncorked the bottle and held it out for him. "A late celebration for your past two victories." he grinned.

"And to our impending victory over Germany." Alfred added taking his first swig of vodka. He coughed as his nerves fizzled out under the burn and handed it back to a boisterously laughing Russia.

He took a long gulp between fading chuckles before passing it back. "Enjoy it, vodka is a precious luxury nowadays." he mentioned with a hearty-scary voice.

"So" another tentative gulp. "How is Nick faring?" the American asked eventually, fishing for some conversation. The whole atmosphere was really beginning to creep him out.

He could hardly have picked a worse topic for his purpose. The giant Russian downed a large amount of the vodka only to slam the bottle down on the table, creating a loud bang to precede the eerie silence that followed as he stared down the American with the most childish smile ever. İt sent shivers down Alfred's spine. The purple eyes fixed on him were glinting dangerously in the light. "Tsar Nicholas is well; he and his family are spending time away from the Palace."

The blonde gulped at the chilling childlike sing song voice he used. Like he just unwittingly stepped out of a trench into German fire. "On holiday?" he asked in an attempt to laugh it off.

"Nyet" Russia stated simply. Alfred blinked a few times before the Russian went on. "To answer your question, komrade, I am now being run by the Provisional Government and Petrograd Soviet." he explained.

"Oh, a two party system?" the blonde probed with a light hopeful voice. Maybe it's good... İt could be a good thing... Not a bad revolution.

The older nation sighed airily, his easy attitude belied by the tense aura surrounding him. "Little Amerikanski, it is a joint power. The All Russian Council is forming and i must say that it is going well for my Soviet Workers." Socialists, damn. That did not sit well with the Democratic Republic.

"Oh" was all he said.

They continued drinking in awkward silence. So, the İmperial Russia Alfred had been remembering all these years, thinking fondly of since the beginning, was joint socialist? At least it is a balance of power. That way he is not full out Marxist, right? Who would take away the right to pursue freedom and property? Even half-done Democrats like Britain had that. It was just... All wet! Yeah, Socialism was all wet! And heroes advocated freedom! And Democracy! And the United States of America was the home of the free. So Alfred was a hero!

Purple eyes looked up through silvery bangs quietly while Alfred unwittingly made faces to his inner monologue. It began childishly troubled with his blue eyes clouded over in a mix of hurt and betrayal. His brows knit down in a tight impression of his former guardian's and his lower lip jutted out in a pout, effectually making the face very cute. Then he smirked a little. A bit more, with less dark emotion. The smirk blasted into a full out confident grin as all the vestiges of doubt disappeared completely. Russia could hardly keep from launching into a fit of giggles and immediately felt sad when his intrusive laugh wiped all the emotion from his face to look at the Russian in surprise. "You are just as cute as when you were Colony, Amerika, I could not help but laugh. I missed your smile." he explained to the disturbed American.

The seed of affection was cultured again. Russia had missed him too? Alfred bit his lip. He was not sure why, but the memory of kissing the tall Ruski popped up. Did Russia remember that too? Did he think of it the same way as all those years ago? Alfred's tongue became thick in his mouth. "I, uh, missed you too, Russia." he stumbled out, feeling very nervous now.

"Please, call me Ivan." the elder man smiled indulgently. He stared into Alfred's lightly blushing face for a moment longer before looking away to drink more of his Vodka. "I think of you sometimes, remembering when Pyetr brought me to the West... It was a very nice night to think of, though it was far too short." he continued offhandedly, his voice rather quiet in the large space.

Alfred blushed a little harder. "You think about that too?"

"Da," he smiled almost warmly passing the bottle. "It makes me happy."

The room went silent momentarily. Both just looked away uncomfortably. What was there to do? Now that it was obvious both of them remembered that night very well, neither knew what came next. Luckily, Alfred was a bit more liberal in his sexual life already and did not think much before he did things. He was a man of action.

The blonde stalked over with the half empty bottle of vodka clutched tightly in his fingers. "Ivan, how much do you think about that night?" he practically purred moving to straddle the uniformed Ruski's lap. Alfred took a quick swig of the drink before resting his forehead on the paler one before him.

Ivan kept his childlike smile on as he pulled back to relieve the American of the hooch temporarily. "Often enough." he replied ambiguously tracing America's jawline softly with his free hand.

"... ever wonder if it could happen again?" Alfred continued in a low voice.

Russia moved his arm down to wrap around the other's waist pulling their hips closer. Alfred again took the bottle that was now pressed against his thigh and drank from it while he waited for the answer. He did not say anything for a very long time, just stared up into the blue eyes above him silently. America was about to open his mouth when Russia beat him to it. "You sit here on me, dressed like an Italian gentleman, drinking vodka. Yet you still ask these questions?" he interrupted finally with a smirk.

"I tell you, Valentino is going to be a sex icon soon. I look spiffy in this!" Alfred said on the point of his suit. It looked great on him! "And I was asking nicely..." he drifted off, connecting their lips softly.

It was a complete reversal of what had occurred initially. America was dipping down to kiss Russia in a very non-innocent tongue battle. This kiss was hot and passionate where the other had been sweet and gentle. Even the gentle roll of Alfred's hips against the silver haired man's was very new. Russia began nipping at his lower lip harshly as the hooch was fumbled to safety for the moment. God forbid the bottle be dropped and ruin the moment.

Latvia interrupted it anyways with a call from outside the tent. "Master Russia, Mr. Britain wishes to inform Mr. America that mess is being held and he must report immediately for a telegram." the boy reported loudly.

A surprising growl ripped from Russia's throat momentarily before his falsetto voice took over as if nothing was amiss. "Скажите г. Брайтэйну что он может вернуть Америку когда я сделан трахая его." He giggled pulling the American who was about to slip off his lap closer yet. "Where did you think you were going, Alfred?" Ivan asked innocently.

"To mess. If it is a telegram from my boss I cannot miss it." The blonde replied flatly. Honestly, what did he think? He was being called for business.

The Russian shook his head in exasperation. "I did not tell you could go!" he said sweetly attempting to claim the other's lips again and pouting when he was denied.

Alfred's lip pressed into a thin line. "And what made you think I was asking your permission?"

"Who said you had a say, Amerikanski?" He retorted with a gleeful grin plastered across his darkening face.

Seeing the change in the atmosphere and the way this was headed, America promptly pushed away the older nation to disembark from his lofty position. If he had not acted like that maybe he would have gotten more even with the telegram waiting! But no, Russia was assuming he owned him or something. That guy was balled up. "Look, I know the fire extinguisher put it out. You will just have to take a check." Alfred told him adamantly.

Before anything else could be said, like Russia expressing his confusion at the cryptic words, America had kissed him quickly and wiggled off to meet Britain with a half wave to the crazy Latvian he passed. Boy, that was some weird look that kid gave him. Like he was angry or something. Though America had no idea why he would be.

The mess hall was an open aired tent like the Russian command center only with food. Women dished out rations solemnly to the tired out soldiers without much comment. Luckily the guys were beating their gums though, or it would have been dead silent. Then again, they were in the Great War... It would fit to feel like a funeral. But that was not the American way to do things, Alfred grinned walking up to the line for eats. He could probably sneak a meal in while he was looking for the Brit. The Janes smiled back at his cheery expressions when they doled out his portion. They almost sighed when he walked off tray in hand to find Britain, in fact. Kind of endearing if he was not already stuffing the food down his kisser like there was no tomorrow.

"Jones!" called the stout voice of his former guardian. Alfred made his way quickly over to the man, depositing his empty tray on a crowded table, and followed him to his private quarters. It was nicer and much more well-kept than the Russian tent. The telegraph was dusted, maps were rolled up orderly, and things were generally brighter and cleaner looking. "Do not mind the bloke sleeping his life away, France will not be waking up for a bit." Britain commented dryly leading the American to the polished up table off to the side.

A soft nasal laugh wafted through the air like an afterthought as they sat down. "I will get my revenge on him, Arthur..." the French accent breathed from his position bundled up in his thin blanket on the cot.

"You Jake, Francis?" America questioned loudly, hoping the Frenchman could hear him across the room.

"...Why did you call me Jake, Mon Cher..?" came the confused reply.

Britain huffed pointedly. "I think it is his bloody butchery of the English language." he answered for Alfred before answering him. "And the Germans tried to bleed him dry, America. He is not doing that well so he needs to get BACK TO SLEEP BEFORE I HAVE TO MAKE HIM." he shouted at the end to emphasize his message to their fellow bedridden nation. Soft snores were his only response and he quickly deflated, pulling a piece of paper from a thick, neat stack and handed it to the younger. It read:

Dear Alfred F Jones, STOP I have ordered the Armament of Merchant ships due to the lack of agreement at the last assembly STOP We are now officially at war with Germany as of 6 April, 1917 and I ask you formally to personally break off relations with their personification immediately upon receiving this telegram STOP I trust you will join the war promptly as soon as that business is taken care of STOP Cordially, Woodrow Wilson, President of the United States of America STOP

America mumbled choice pieces to himself. A trip to the border to speak with Germany? Or could he just send a telegram? "Hey, Arty, how do I do this official cut off ties stuff?" Alfred asked finally with a hardly embarrassed grin. This was his first intervention in war, he had no clue what procedures there was for anything of this magnitude. With Britain he had just signed the Declaration and faced the red coats. It's not like he really said anything until they fought, it was understood from his actions. Then 1812… he didn't even want to bring that up.

The bushy browed Brit slammed his face into his open palm in a gesture of exasperation. "Honestly, you git, you should know these things! You meet with Germany on the front lines as a diplomatic meeting and tell him you two are now enemies. Simple as tha- ALFRED JONES WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Britain shouted when the obnoxious American ran out of the tent with a loud exclamation of excitement. The Englishman could only shake his head in disbelief as the bedridden nation laughed quietly.

At the front lines many miles away, America came upon a well groomed but slightly haggard Germany busy with his camp's daily inspections. America was really glad he was not stationed in a trench somewhere. It would be hell finding him then! But here he was, thankfully in open air to where he could simply run in and do what he came to do. "Hey, Germany!" Alfred called out brazenly from the edge of the camp.

Germany turned around to face the loud power with a grimace. Albeit a grimly unsurprised one. "Vat are you doing here, America?" the asked without humor.

"I came to break off ties with you because, as a hero, I can't be associated with villains! So we are over, Germany!" Alfred proclaimed. Just about every soldier in the camp was staring at the strange English speaking guy with confusion and disturbed expressions.

Germany pinched the bridge of his nose, America adding to his stress load this disastrous war was bringing him. "Ja, vat else?" he asked warily.

"Uh, that's it. I guess I will bump you off soon and… all that jazz." America laughed a little too loudly, realizing he had no idea what else to say. Was there anything else he was supposed to put out there? Maybe he should have stayed and listened to the insufferably experienced Britain. He probably had something helpful… or insulting. Alfred stared at the muscular blonde for a moment, distracted by the tight black undershirt he was wearing. Did Ivan have a sculpted body that hot…?

A masked man walked into camp from the other end, wearing a long white scarf and green trench coat that flipped in the breeze. "I come to deliver supplies and see Amerika here too. What is happening?" the Turk asked in a thick accent as he came upon them to stand by Germany.

America gave the masked man a haughty grin brimming with confidence. "I am declaring war on Germany!" he reiterated loudly for Sadik, causing German soldiers to flinch.

"Ah, you are Triple Entente?" he asked with a thick raised brow.

The dirty Blonde scoffed awkwardly. "Pfft, no. I am allying with them but I am not a part of them. I just want to get back at Germany for sinking my ships." He clarified. He was not in for the whole shebang, just the official strike back against the U-Boats. Not that he liked anything else about the war… It just had nothing to do with him.

Turkey seemed to consider this for a moment before turning back to the German. "The supplies are in the usual place, Ludwig-bey. Hoşça kal!" he informed dismissively, turning tail out of the camp without bothering to bid America farewell.

There was a new awkward silence that made both nations fidget uncomfortably before America finally broke it. The stoic blonde looked almost relieved at the outburst, in fact. "So, uh, see you later, villain!" he shouted before making a dramatic exit. Germany shook his head at the inquiring looks sent to him by his troops and just went back to work with a bad twitch in his eye.

Not long after declaring war on Germany, American-captained troops joined the Entente's military efforts against Germany. Britain chastised him for something every day, he shot soldiers, burned stuff, humored France's intense hate of Germany, and ate mess with his men. True to Arthur's word, Russia almost never left his tent but to lead a few attacks. Even then he was gone immediately, only assumed to be in his tent. America had become so busy with laying the hurt on Germany that he had not found the time when he was actually at camp to go visit him.

It was the 25 of October before he finally received a lull in activities that permitted him personal time. It was the perfect chance in his eyes to cash in that check. So, clad in his new military uniform, he marched down to the Russian encampment with a cool bottle of vodka in hand. He smiled happily in the direction the Latvian gunman had been hiding during their last encounter and did a funny jig with his legs to catch the boy's attention.

As expected, the bright eyed Baltic popped out of thin air to greet him. "What was that?" the boy asked going through the routine of disarming the visiting American. When he was again satisfied Alfred was harmless, he propped his weapon on his shoulder at ease.

"No idea, boy-o. Just did it." He smiled. The Latvian's lips curled up a little. "It would make a swanky dance, right."

The boy just nodded in amusement at the funny Superpower and gestured him in. "Yes, Mr. America, I think it would." He conceded out of courtesy. The man would be brokenhearted soon anyway.

Alfred smiled and nigh strutted into the tent. "Ivan! I brought vodka!" he called out going straight to the table to open it. Unthinkingly, he brushed aside a few telegrams in Russian aside to make room. They could not be that important at the moment. "Hope you are ready to cash in that check and get ossified!" America added merrily.

Freezing cold hands wrapped around his waist from behind. Alfred shivered as they traveled across his chest, a cold breath ghosting across his ear. The scraggle of a beard caressing his neck woke him. "Dobre vecher" applesauce-fuck-god-damn! The American struggled in the icy iron grip. That voice was NOT Ivan's! "Calm down, little one. You came to rejoice with good cause. My child has chosen to abandon your pig ways you are so bound to. Vanya will rid the world of the evils of Capitalism and you shall become one with him as will everyone. So rejoice! You will be saved." The voice exulted in a deep, richly sadistic tone. "He did say he had to save even the stupid rotten children like you"

Alfred struggled to free himself, or to at least catch a glimpse of the man. The hold was chilling him something fierce now. He could almost feel the cold painfully seeping to his spine. It was awful. The American was shivering uncontrollably as a hand traveled up his exposed neck to grip his jaw and yank it to the side, cold lips pressing lightly against his jugular. "H-he would never say that!" Alfred shouted angrily.

He could feel the cold seeping into his spine, The freezing of his nerves with a terrible wave of fear. Not just how he was held so vulnerably by this crazy stranger. He was afraid of the spoken words hanging in the air, threatening to choke him. Had Ivan really said that about him? Was he being cast away like an old toy for some sick regime? And most bitterly, had he meant so little Ivan would not even tell him he was leaving? And that hit him. this was not the first time. The Russian could have been making trips back and forth behind their fact, Alfred was almost sure he had been since before America declared war. The realization hurt.

The mysterious Russian chuckled chillingly. "That was all he said before leaving. Why, did you think he 'forgot' to say goodbye?" he taunted. At the nation's unusual span of silence the man laughed again, biting lightly on the softly tanned flesh. Alfred clenched his eyes shut in shame. "You did, you foolish child! You actually thought you were worth something in his eyes!" the man's broad chest rumbled with his laughter, humiliating the young nation.

"…stop…" America whispered.

The laughter died down. "You are just a passing fancy, an errant thought in his mind. He knows you are just a Capitalist pig. You should be put down for being such a fool!" he continued.

America balled his hands into tight fists, grinding his teeth against the onslaught of emotions. "… stop.. saying that.." he spoke louder, firmer.

"You are nothing to him." the voice practically smirked in and of itself.

Alfred finally snapped. "I SAID STOP SAYING THAT!" he screamed. Using all his strength to press forward, he grabbed hold of the glass bottle and hurled it backwards… through a flurry of white snow. The sound of shattering glass erupted from the far side of the tent where the Vodka crashed against the ground. the blond was in a daze. He was not angry, or in a rage. There was only the intense cold and a shattered heart. Like the damn vodka he went through the trouble of getting for the Russian.

The American teenager did the only thing his emotional mind could come up with; he ran back to his tent. He was trying desperately not to give in to the tears that wanted to fall. A quick thank you was silently sent up to his god when he found Arthur there instead of France. He could remember the last time he sought out France for help. The Frenchman had taken him in a board room in exchange for siding with him during the Revolution. He would have cringed at the memory of those lecherous hands drawing pleasure from him if not for the situation. It was awful and scarring.

The Briton looked at the disheveled man dashing into the tent as if he was about to reprimand him before his eyes took in the full effect. The teary eyes stained his face a terrible blotchy red that accentuated the terrified and crushed face he sported. Alfred crashed against him and wrapped his arms around Arthur's torso, pushing them both back onto the cot. The American buried his face in the smaller man's chest and let out a muffled sob that had the British man wide eyed and worried. "Alfred? Alfred, what happened?" Arthur asked with a hysteric edge to his voice, panic at the sight of his former colony looking so torn. His hands immediately stroked Alfred's short hair the way he used to in the old days, holding the boy close to him. The teen was freezing! What had he been doing, the man wondered frantically.

Trembling lips traveled up to place a kiss on Arthur's collar bone and up his pale neck with an earnest gentleness. Britain tried to pull him back but he simply locked lips with the green eyed man. "Oh Arty, you are so good… You told me about the threat from Mexico and came back to me even though I left you… You must really love me…" Alfred whispered between kisses. He had already worked off Arthur's pants and was freeing himself while he worked on the man beneath him.

When he pulled away to rid them of the rest of their clothes, the elder gave him an aroused but concerned look. "Alfred, are you sure about this? I do not think you are in the right-" he was cut off by a silencing finger on his lips and a look into Alfred's watery blue eyes. Arthur decided Alfred felt like he really needed this comforting contact. He shook the hand off gently and laid tender kisses on each of the knuckles. "Very well." He reluctantly agreed.

Alfred's face washed over with grateful relief and leaned into capture Arthur in another warm embrace. The island nation began running his hands vigorously over the teen's body in an attempt to warm him up from the strange chill. Arthur pulled him close as he felt two fingers hurriedly slip inside him dry. Things were going a little fast and sloppy, but the Brit let it go this time. They ground their hips impatiently as Alfred spit on his hand and slicked up his member. Their hips lined up and Arthur wrapped his legs around the other's waist to pull him in with a slightly pained gasp. The American swallowed up his soft groans at the lack of good preparation. The large package stretched him too much.

Their breathing became synced and ragged as Alfred began thrusting in and out of him at a fast, desperate pace. His prostate was not hit at first but he did not notice, as he was stroking the darker blonde comfortingly as the American drove towards oblivion. He went on to kiss the violently shaking boy's chest and neck. Arthur moved back up to give him an open mouthed kiss as he felt Alfred reach climax inside of him.

The younger must have felt bad because he reached down to finish off Arthur with his hand. When he came all over their stomachs he felt the American collapse on his chest, weakly pulling out of the smaller man. He was finished. Arthur tiredly embraced the sleeping nation choosing not to hear the soft nasal snickering flooding into the tent. "At least someone is feeling carefree…" laughed France, coming forth to hand his old enemy a towel to clean himself with.

He snorted. "Shut your mouth, frog. Something is wrong with America! ... Has anything happened?" he snapped quietly before asking after why the weirdo was back.

"Russia…" Francis started softly. His face was extremely serious. "Russia has left the war. His new government does not support it…."

Britain's eyes narrowed in confusion and a little anger. "You mean..?" he asked apprehensively. He almost did not want to hear the answer.

"The Bolsheviks might as well be crowned dictating power at this point. Russia is Communist now" he replied grimly. Russia was not coming back. Tears began streaming afresh from the teenager, startling the two men. Lenin had taken control. The Red Army was winning.

 

"Woodrow, I want all of those dirty Reds out of my Nation. All they will do is destroy my people. Get them out of here. Then alcohol, that plague of family life and clear headed dignity, is to be banned completely. I do not want it in my country. Prohibition is the only way to go so stop VETO'ing the bill." America ranted. There, now I will get rid of him! That dumb dora will be wiped from my country.

The human President eyed his nation warily. His pupils were dilated and his gestures were emptier than a fake hunting duck. He knew that look. "Jones, are you on Heroin?" he probed. America had been all over the place since he got home from the Great War. His smile was always huge and strange, different from his old one, and you could never reach him. Something must have happened. It could not have been France's rejection of the 14 Point Plan. The BOI officers reported him partying every night.

The blonde scowled irately. "No." he lied. "And that has nothing to do with this. I want these passed NOW." Alfred demanded, turning with a swaying balance to walk out the door.

"Alfred." The man stopped him. The nation turned around reluctantly at the stern tone in which he used his human first name. Wilson held his hands out imploringly, as if beckoning an answer to fall into his arms. "What happened out there?"

"I just took a wooden nickel. That is all." America said softly setting his fedora on his slicked back hair. He was not stopped this time as he exited the White House, two agents following behind him.

A big Red Russian wooden nickel that gave me a splinter, he thought bitterly. A flask of brandy was pulled from the breast of his Italian suit and pressed to his lips. I am that stupid to him anyways. That villain will not be let into the League of Nations, I say!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dmitri: guys, this was longer than I meant. 7109 words… honestly. Wrote this listening to KGB CONNECTIONS, the documentary lol but the song for this, once again, is Forgotten by And Then I Turned Seven. Questions about America's slang?
> 
> Gams: female legs
> 
> Dame/broad/jane: random lady (leans promiscuous)
> 
> Bearcat: my favourite term for a sexy, vivacious, strong willed woman.
> 
> All jake: okay
> 
> All wet: all wrong
> 
> Cash or check: kiss now or later?
> 
> Wooden nickel: a saying about doing something really stupid.
> 
> And historical references? Hold your breath!
> 
> **** the USA joined as an Allied Force after the Germans refused to halt unrestricted U-boat warfare, which sank neutral American ships. Not that American politicians weren't already harping on Germany, this just gave them the excuse to butt in and turn the war in favour of the Triple Entente (basically the WW2 Allies) and defeating the Triple Alliance (Germany and co.). hopefully you all know what started the Great War, so I won't explain the irony and stupidity of the alliances responsible.
> 
> *** sadly, Turkey was basically on Germany's side. They supplied that side so sorta allies since long standing interactions between the two and yadda yadda.
> 
> **the Russian Revolution was in two parts: February in which the provisional government jointed with Petrograd Soviet after bumping the Tsar (who was later executed with his family after the October). The Great October Socialist Revolution was the whole thing with the Red and White armies, in which after a lot of stuff, Red won. Big surprise. Everyone liked the Soviets. The whole Sniper Latvia thing was because Latvians were snipers in the Cheka, who protected the Government. The Cheka later became the KGB we know during Stalin. Between the revolutions, Lenin came back from exile (still mad about his executed revolutionist sibling) and yeah. So Russia withdrew from the war. The comment Iggy made about Russia's ally status? Everyone was screwing with Russia, everyone. Vodka became inflated.
> 
> *America almost immediately put their wartime prohibition act further and did the Noble Experiment of banning alcohol. Did it work? No. Al Capone made sure of that. Then the 'getting rid of commies' is the red scare they had, getting all the commies out. Did it work? No. USSR and Cuba kept coming in. Rudolph Valentino? Watch 'Sheik' or any other movie with him. He was a sex icon.


	3. Loathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: MAY CONTAIN OFFENSIVE VIOLENCE AND AMERICANISM. THE SONG IS LOATHING FROM WICKED OR I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU BY THREE DAYS GRACE.

"Arty, Francis, lets lay rubber." The American ordered somberly. Both Europeans nodded grimly and made to follow him. Alfred marched at the head of his troops with a deep fire in his blue eyes. They smoldered with an acidic hate that was hungry for violence. The only way to satiate his desire was to see red seep into the snow. Britain cast masked glances of concern with France towards the silently intense American but kept following confidently.

He led them past the border into Soviet Russia and ordered the first attack. Bolshevik soldiers dropped like flies quickly before they knew what was happening. Soon enough green uniforms came flooding into the battlefield. The three capitalist nations waited and watched the battle. Alfred seemed to be itching to jump in and fight alongside his men, though his less energetic former guardians held him back from acting so brazen. Every downed man made him smile a little more in fulfillment.

Then that man caught his eye. He was standing far away on a balcony staring as Alfred did. The Russian was smiling childishly down at his struggling men, seeming not to care who died. Though he smiled so innocently, his furious anger was belied by his eyes that glittered maliciously. His lips curled just a little too much to be friendly, His aura too dark to be anything but sinister, that heart too black to be considered human.

In the moment of eye contact between the two, Alfred was filled with more than resentment. He loathed Ivan with everything he had. The blonde hated his silver hair that shone beautifully and made his violet eyes sparkle. America hated the way his petal pink scarf fluttered daintily in the wind, how tall and broad chested he was, how cute his face was, and how he had ever thought anything less than absolute hatred for this monster in front of him. The American teenager wanted to rip his own lips off for sedition. It disgusted him almost as much as the Russian did. Most of all, he wanted to knock that stupid smile off the silverette's face.

As if he caught this last thought from America, Ivan smirked haughtily directly at the scowling blonde.

 

Alfred woke in the middle of the night to complete blackness. The shadows seemed to reflect his dream like a mirror, replaying the final moments in an ethereal light. His bangs clung to his sweaty forehead as he breathed heavy with emotion from the memory. As his hands stopped their trembling and he unclenched the sheets balled up around him, he began to lie back down. The blonde man curled up into a ball to dry sob for the third consecutive night since he returned home from the Great War. Sleep came slow a first, then nonexistent as the days passed. Now he could only lie awake in bed until the early morning light would give him excuse to rouse from his coiled state.

It's not patriotic enough. Make it more patriotic.

This was the solution he always defaulted to for everything wrong with his country. The problems? Everything not American, basically. Russians, Wobblies, left wingers, Germans, protestors, Communists, and Russians… did he mention Communists? Those things were infesting him wherever he went! Like rats causing disease in his perfect nation. Nothing could be done to stop the swell of infection that was destroying him. That purple gaze was always on his mind. The streets were being purged daily of the scum. Legion was wiping away so much grime! But it seemed there was an endless flow of unpatriotic slackers. For every three that were incarcerated, two were deported and ten started a new riot. His cities plagued with wobbly endorsed riots and violent chaos was terrible to see.

Sometimes he had to get away. Alfred would switch states just to try and escape the destruction that enraged his heart. But it was always the same. In Iowa there was a man wearing a long white scarf that flicked out behind him as he walked along the streets. The nation threw him in jail immediately. In Seattle, workers were under the spell of the Wobblies and began to cause destruction and strike out against America. There was nothing wrong with America! Luckily, Mayor Hansen was there to dispense huge amounts of cops and federal troops to keep the city safe from the domestic Hun. The plot to establish communism was successfully stamped out. Or so he thought! Just when he thought he was safe, Boston's finest went on strike! Those Reds were even in his police force. America angrily called for the entire company of strikers to be fired and promptly replaced by good American men.

He was fretting over this when his brother found him roaming -prowling- the streets for any plots against the great American way of life. Matthew had to grab his arm before the more powerful nation even saw him, he had been too busy watching two sheet covered men carrying baseball bats corner a Negro woman. Canada almost pulled back when America came face to face with him. Alfred had this half-crazy look in his sleep deprived eyes that quite frankly scared the younger. "Uh, hi, Alfie…" Matthew offered a wary smile.

Alfred's bloodshot eyes blinked a few times before a smile lit up his face and he enveloped his brother in a bone crushing hug. "Leave the Reds to Legion, Mattie! How are you?" he almost shouts with a bout of uneasy fake laughter.

"Fine. I would ask you the same… but you look terrible. What's gotten in to you?" Matthew shot directly, cutting the pleasantries. Since his brother was not really pleasant to be around mostly anyways.

The taller looked at him blankly. "Everything is great; I am cleaning up my streets of the scum! Never felt better!" he denied turning at the sound of a sickening crunch followed by a blood curdling cry of pain. The woman had fallen to the ground behind a dumpster and was screaming for someone to help as the bats were brought down on her mercilessly. Matthew was repulsed by the sight- and the fact that Alfred was ignoring it to smile at him.

"What is wrong with you?" he finally asked after staring aghast into those cloudy blue eyes for a few minutes, vainly trying to comprehend what was going on in that lofty brain of his.

"Nothing is wrong." He stated firmly. A twitch of the eye interrupted the façade. "That negro woman tried to enter a white washroom last week." He shrugged in explanation. "She deserves-"

Smack! She sound of a pale hand striking the elder's cheek sounded down the alley, startling the attackers. Upon seeing the two on lookers, one livid with disgust and the other wide eyed in sheer surprise as he touched his burning cheek, they made a run for it. The woman was reduced to tears of relief as she curled up into herself to clutch her broken ribs that screamed in pain. Her sobs were the only sound for what seemed an eternity to the brothers.

"Mattie-" Alfred began with a hurt expression.

"Keep your kisser closed and listen to me! You. Are. Sick." The livid Canadian cut him off unceremoniously. "Stop being so paranoid! None of these people are after you. These are your own innocent Americans you are throwing into conditions worse than humanely possible! I do not get your problem. Just focus on stopping the spread of communism if Soviet Russia bothers you- but in the places it actually is. Stop chasing your fantasies all over the place and chopping your own arm off because you're an idiot, we are not the Europeans that kill their own people like the Prussian crusaders. It sickens me to hear this news. You sicken me."

If you are too weak to actually face Russia, then focus on the Germans. Just snap out of whatever this is and do something progressive for your country." Mathieu shouted sternly, his face red tinged from lack of breath. Before he could deflate at the withered face his brother was making, the maple loving teen turned around and left in mock huff.

That left America standing there alone on the street in silence. The woman had finally fallen quiet but Alfred's mind was louder than before. All the things his northern brother said was running through his mind. Oh god, he had been so selfish… putting his human feelings before that of his country and people…. How could he have done that?

No, how can he right it? His thoughts began racing in his head as he left the wounded woman behind without a second thought. He had to get back to his apartment and work this out. Make a list, Arthur was all about lists. He plowed into his Oklahoma residence and barely remembered to lock the door behind him.

He could not directly attack Russia himself. That was out of the question. He told himself it was because that would send the wrong message to the Russian people who were rejoicing over their recent 'victory' over oppression. It would vilify America and unite them against the west, something he could not have. Others though… it was not his problem what other Countries they vilified. In fact, he could look good not being the one to attack. Who was against Russia? He wrote down the list of the perfect ones.

The White Army- even though they were Anarchists, no one could deny how strategically well they were placed. The Union could be torn apart from the inside! Alfred tried to forget how he delicately fingered his midsection where his scar was at the thought of being internally ripped apart.

Afghanistan- the more soldiers they could take out in their fight for freedom, the better.

Germany- he could not arm this one. It would be too dangerous and bother the Entente terribly if he was to do that… but he could turn a blind eye and let them do it themselves against the Treaty of Versailles.

There! Now to write the Europeans about joining the swanky League of Nations. The boss did say they were going ahead with it, right..? Oh well, what I cannot remember must not have been important, Alfred reasoned.

 

 

America ended up not doing the whole League of Nations thing. '29 had brought him with the worst case of sickness he had ever felt before- Depression. His stock market had crashed; Wall Street was ground zero at best for the moment. Abolition had finally been repealed in 1933 by the popular vote on account of it getting us nowhere but deeper in crime. There was no way in hell he was admitting his over zealousness after the War was biting back but he really felt the awful empty feeling in his heart. His stomach was queasy, but he could not eat. Bags were under his eyes, but he could not get a wink of sleep. There was so much hunger in his land right now he could barely think straight. Well, he could still pretend he had no idea what they were talking about when the other nations asked him when he was going to join the League of Nations, which had been his idea to begin with. Which was good that his boss said joining right now was a no go… since Soviet Russia somehow joined against the American's wish. Who had invited him anyway?

Nevertheless, it was this lonely affliction that led him to seek out company in the third month and fifth day of 1935. At first he was shooed away from Britain, who was busy with a dying king and something about negotiations so America was prompted by an irate Briton to go bother the frog. So he did. He traveled further to Paris and marched unannounced into the Frenchman's home as he had done to the British man's before. Of course they knew him there and seemed really excited to see him. Alfred had to insist they not go ahead of him to open the door even!

With a desperate look, an attendant tried to plead with him. "Monsieur Francis says he is not to be disturbed. Please, America…" he pleaded with the American futilely.

The blonde just smiled to the human and laid his hand on the knob of the conference room France was supposed to be in. "Ha! He's either petting himself or having a meeting, he will not be bothered if I come in!" Alfred announced confident in his profiling of his old parent. Horse feathers, these guys did not know him!

The attendant absconded having tried his best to assuage the American to come away and wait for France to be done with his meeting. Alfred threw open the door and stepped in, trying to look at least half as sick as he really was. His first thought was that he should have listened.

Francis was up on the table with his long trouser clad legs wrapped around a thick ivory coated waist while he kissed a broad shouldered silverette passionately, making unabashed lewd noises as he tugged lightly on the pink scarf wrapped around his partner's neck. The wavy blonde hardly bothered to look up to see what was the matter with the entire ruckus Alfred made during his entrance. The teen could not believe what he was seeing. The Frenchman he had known since he was a baby was petting his Ivan!

Wait, strike the possessive! No way had he even thought that but- "WHAT THE HELL YA DOIN', FRANCIS?" he found himself yelling in his southern accent. He just could not control it when he was flustered or angry.

Russia suddenly stiffened at the voice, making France pull away with a pout on his face. "Negotiating a five year alliance with Russia, mon petit. I know you have done this before~" he chuckled feeling a bit put out. He made a funny face at Russia for a moment, possibly finding something in those hidden violet orbs that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Well, uh, Arty was busy so I thought I might visit you…" Alfred explained, a little deflated at the simple reason. Remember, he had no reason to openly fight… do it behind his back… right! Look like a superhero! Nothing less.

France tossed his golden mane back and laughed. "Well, as you can see, I am a bit busy to make love to you right now… you will have to wait in line!" he said winking lasciviously.

"I was not coming to have sex with you!" America shot back indignantly. Gah! That Frenchie really got on his nerves! "Never mind, good day... you too, Russia!" he smiled through clenched teeth as turned to exit the door, not bothered at all that Russia had not even turned around during their encounter. Not that he wanted to see that dumb Dora face again!

As he shut the door behind him and leaned against it briefly for support he heard Francis' faint accented cooing. "Relax, Mon amour Ruski, do not grip me so tight…"

Oh, so he was that intent on having Francis that he went right back to it so quickly? Not even a moment to remember the American love he had? Well, obviously he really had not meant anything to him if he was so easily forgotten! …or never meant anything in the first place at all…

The sickness clutched him again as his heart ached anew. He did not want to see him now or ever… he did not want to fight with him as he used subterfuge against him. He would be damned if he joined anything that had nothing to do with him!

The preoccupied American ended up at his brother's Ontario house instead of his own but nearly knocked down the door to go in despite the fact it was not his to freely trespass. Alfred stomped into the kitchen and sat down on the table to watch the longer haired twin sigh deeply and ignore him. He was making too many pancakes anyway… "Alfie, are you going to tell me why you are in my kitchen?" Matthew asked eventually just to break the uncomfortable silence.

"I am going to be as neutral as Vash!" Alfred announced with fake excitement.

"Is that so?" the French borne teen wondered. "Maybe the Geneva convention is making you a better person..." he said offhandedly

Alfred stuck his tongue out at his brother and huffed at the comment. "I just don't want to be swept up in their stupid European wars. That is all!" the bespectacled elder clarified for the benefit of waving the reference of their past argument away. It had been a decade since then, but it still bothered him to remember it.

Flipping the hot pancakes onto a high stacked plate, Matthew brought the meal to the table to split. "That is all wet, brother, and you know it… at least tell me you will plan on keeping with the lend lease program?" Williams sighed at what he knew to be his brother it holding through his promises.

Alfred thought for a moment then responded easily enough: "yes, I will keep my end of that." He promised, taking a pancake from the top as Matthew poured the maple syrup all over it. The result was sticky brown splatting all over Canada's nice white embroidered linen. Phooey, it is not like he had a woman around to fix it, he had to make another one if the stain did not come out. Alfred, as a rule, never noticed to offer to foot the cleaning bill. But that was Alfred.

"That is good…" the violet eyed brother relented.

 

Stalin's speech.

19 August 1939

If Germany should prove to be victorious, she will leave the war too weakened to start a war with the USSR within a decade at least. She will have to supervise the occupation of France and England and to prevent their restoration.

In addition, a victorious Germany will have vast territories; the exploitation of those and their adaptation to German methods will also absorb Germany during several decades.

Obviously, this Germany will be too busy elsewhere to turn against us. There is one additional thing that will strengthen our safety. In a conquered France, the French Communist Party will always be very strong. A Communist revolution will unavoidably break out, and we will be able to exploit the situation and to come to the aid of France and make her our ally. In addition, all the nations that fall under the "protection" of a victorious Germany will become our allies. This presents for us a broad field of action for the initiation of world revolution.

Comrades, I have presented my considerations to you. I repeat that it is in the interest of the USSR, the workers' homeland that a war breaks out between the Reich and the capitalist Anglo-French bloc. It is essential for us that everything should be done so that it drags out as long as possible with the goal of weakening both sides. For this reason, it is imperative that we agree to conclude the pact proposed by Germany, and then work in such a way that this war, once it is declared, will be prolonged maximally. We must strengthen our economic work in the belligerent countries, in order to be prepared when the war ends.

 

Churchill's first address

13th May 1940

I SPEAK TO YOU FOR THE FIRST time as Prime Minister in a solemn hour for the life of our country, of our Empire, of our Allies, and above all the cause of freedom. A tremendous battle is raging in France and Flanders. The Germans, by a remarkable combination of air bombing and heavily armoured attacks have broken through the French defenses north of the Maginot Line and strong columns of their armoured vehicles are ravaging the open country, which for the first day or two was without defenders… We must not allow ourselves to be intimidated by the presence of these armoured vehicles in unexpected places behind our lines… It would be foolish, however to disguise the gravity of the hour. It would be still more foolish to lose heart and courage or to suppose that well-trained and well-equipped armies numbering three to four millions of men can be overcome in the space of a few, weeks, or even months, by a scoop, or raid of mechanized vehicles, however formidable.

Today is Trinity Sunday. Centuries ago words were written to be a call and a spur to the faithful servants of Truth and Justice: 'Arm yourselves, and be ye men of valor, and be in readiness for the conflict; for it is better for us to perish in battle than to look upon the outrage of our nation and our altar. As the Will of God is in Heaven, even so let it be.'

 

Roosevelt's request for war

December 8, 1941

Mr. Vice President, Mr. Speaker, members of the Senate and the House of Representatives: Yesterday, December 7th, 1941 — a date which will live in infamy — the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan…

Yesterday the Japanese Government also launched an attack against Malaya.

Last night Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong.

Last night Japanese forces attacked Guam.

Last night Japanese forces attacked the Philippine Islands.

Last night the Japanese attacked Wake Island.

And this morning the Japanese attacked Midway Island.

Japan has, therefore, undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday and today speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our nation

Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory and our interests are in grave danger.

With confidence in our armed forces, with the unbounded determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph. So help us God.

I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7th, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.

 

The day it happened seems unreal. Japan had been on great terms with him, they were having normal peace talks… Hitler had even said America had nothing to do with it… The war was something to idly debate whether to enter or not… Then Kiku had come up unannounced to his house one previously unremarkable day. Alfred, like any other person believing he was on good terms with the short Japanese man had opened the door. Kiku had grabbed his neck, pressing his katana just under his chin to keep him in place as he was shoved against the doorsill. America was dumbfounded. What was this? A steel toed boot crushed down against his bare foot and crunched the bones dully. A gasp passed the American's lips as he looked incomprehensibly into Nippon's dark inexpressive eyes. "You will not interfere, America-san." He commanded evenly.

In a flash the white uniformed man was gone. His foot was broken, as was his naval base in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. The day after, an angry President Roosevelt addressed a devastated and panicking Nation. Everyone was betraying him, he thought. War was declared on Japan. Not just abroad. Alfred compulsively put all Japanese-Americans under house arrest or in jail in case of further terrorist attacks. There was no such thing as too careful; he tried to reason with himself.

Then the moment came… the Axis Powers declared war on the United States. There was no other way around it; he had to join the Allies. So, head held high, he entered their first meeting with a boisterous laugh. Canada shook his head in time with a snickering France while Britain shouted at him for being late to his first meeting. But he did not care to notice them. His eyes were focused on the smiling baby-face sitting quietly at the right hand of the conference table. The Red was eating some strange outlandish snack between swigs from his canteen, all the while eyeing the observing American newcomer. Be the face of a hero and show that sick, homicidal, heartbreaking fiend what he missed. The face of a hero and the hidden hand of righteous justice.

A smirk crossed his face, confident as the bright blue of his eyes, as he announced boldly. "The hero has arrived, guys. I have a plan to save you from the Hun once again. Working as a team we will prevail! First! Arty needs to find a dress and have Francis escort her as a German officer with his wife named Alice and you can use Russia as a car engine while China makes a distraction and- "the room burst into objections but America only grinned. He only had eyes on Russia, silently challenging him. Alfred might hear them calling the foremost Allies the 'Big Four' but he was only interested in getting back at Japan, showing Germany who was the superpower, and showing up Soviet Russia.

Russia grinned his acceptance and man, oh man, did he want to touch that face… Break it in with his fist and watch the blood spill over those smiling lips. See that smile falter. Alfred had a feeling he would rejoice both the Axis casualties and the Soviet. Whoever of them loses is a win for America! This was a far more interesting war, one fought with smiles and handshakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DMITRI:
> 
> ALLO, I HOPE I DIDN'T LOSE YOU IN THOSE 4,237 WORDS OF UGLY NASTY AMERICANISM. ONCE AGAIN; NOT MY VIEWS ON THE MATTER… UNLESS YOU MEAN MATVEY'S, I LIKE HIS VIEW OF IT. EXPLANATIONS ARE IN ORDER, I SUPPOSE.
> 
> *IN 1918 EVERYBODY ATTACKED RUSSIA AT THE END OF THE WAR SINCE THEY LEFT. WELL, THEY HAD BEEN DOING IT ON A SLIGHTLY SMALLER SCALE BEFORE…
> 
> **FROM THE END OF THE WAR TO VERY EARLY TWENTIES, LIKE A SUDDEN VIOLENT STORM SWEEPING THROUGH THE LAND, THE RED SCARE WAS CHARACTERIZED BY IDIOTS PUTTING PEOPLE AWAY ON HEARSAY. IF YOU LOOKED/SOUNDED/WERE ASSOCIATED WITH/MIGHT HAVE BEEN/ACCUSED OF/RUMORED TO BE COMMIE THEN THEY THREW YOU INTO AWFUL CONDITIONS AND BASICALLY RUINED YOUR LIFE. YOU COULD BE DEPORTED FROM YOUR AMERICAN HOMELAND IF SOMEONE SAID YOU TALKED TO SOMEONE WHO MIGHT HAVE BEEN A SOCIALIST. SERIOUS. LEGION (A HUGE AMERICANIST GROUP) PASSED PAMPHLETS AND VIGILANT 'JUSTICE' OUT TO THE WOBBLIES AND CO. (WOBBLIES ARE WORKER UNION GUYS). BUT OF COURSE THE KKK RAN RAMPANT THROUGH THE STREET UNTOUCHED. IT STOPPED AFTER A BIT AND EVERYONE GOT FINED AND STUFF BUT NO ONE REALLY REGRETTED IT.
> 
> *** AMERICA FUNDED LOTS OF PEOPLE. AGAINST THE SOVIET UNION? JUST TELL AMERICA, HE'LL LEND YA CRAP TONS OF GUNS AND MONEY TO DO WHATEVER.
> 
> ****FRANCE AND SOVI RUSKI STARTED OUT WITH A FIVE YEAR PLAN THEN EVENTUALLY WENT TO TEN… WHILE RUSSIA WAS MAKING TONS OF DEALS WITH GERMANY IN CASE HITLER WON… AND BRITAIN WAS MAKING DEALS TOO. LIKE THE FAILED APPEASEMENTS.
> 
> ***** LEND LEASE IS A SYSTEM THE ALLIES USED SINCE WORLD WAR ONE TO BORROW GUNS AND PEOPLE. NEUTRAL AMERICA SENT THE ALLIES STUFF, NOT AXIS SO—
> 
> ****** JAPAN FUCKED PEARL HARBOR (OR BROKE AMERICA'S FOOT) AND KILLED A LOT OF MILITARY PEOPLE. WE GOT ANGRY AND DECLARED WAR (OH SWEET COMEUPPANCE )SO NIPPON'S ALLIES DECLARED WAR ON U.S. AND VICE VERSA.
> 
> AND AS A NOTE, WHY IS CHINA AN ALLY? HE WAS MORE LIKE A PET… THAT EVERYONE HAD TO FIGHT ON AGAINST THE JAPANESE… WELL, QUEUE THE CANON WORLD WAR 2 STUFF BECAUSE THERE IS NO POINT IN REWRITING IT NOW THAT I SET THE UNDERTOW MOOD~~ NEXT CHAPTER IS THE COLD WAR UNTIL '93 WHEN SOVIET RUSSIA IS ONLY RUSSIA.


	4. Won't Last Forever

It's really going to be over… and the Allies are going to be the winners. Soviet Russia strolled purposefully down the long outdoor corridor, the shadows of the Italian arches fleeing across his less than pleasant smile. On his right hand strode his boss, Josef Stalin, acting like the jolliest leader in the civilized world. He smiled to everyone they passed like a true politician should. Stalin looked so calm and regular, even though he was still vexed about the Allies plotting against them like the pigs they were. On Russia's left arm bounced the somber faced form of his sister, Ukraine. Purple bruises tinted the underside of her eyes and red rimmed around perfectly as if she had been crying; which she had been for hours, awaiting her little brother's arrival. "Starshaya Sestra, you should sleep more, you do not look well." Ivan told her good naturedly. He could not understand her constant tears. Why was she not happy to be in his union? Byelorussia was…

"Prostite, mo'ee braht!" She apologized quickly with wet eyes.

Russia laughed in annoyance. "Stop crying" He ordered off- handedly. Immediately she wiped her eyes and looked down at the ground silently until they reached their destination.

Stalin dismissed Ukraine with a glance and had his nation throw open the conference doors for him. Around the meeting table were America with his President Roosevelt and Britain with his Prime Minister Churchill. Both humans looked so old it made Russia vaguely wonder where the times of being ruled by no one younger than forty had gone. Not that America ever had those years in his history, the spoiled ingrate. "Privet, comrades." Russia greeted cheerfully. "Please forgive our lateness, I was visiting my sister." And making sure she didn't try another revolt. Why was everyone so ungrateful?

"All is forgiven, Russia, please come sit. Mr. Stalin, it is good to see you." America's wrinkly faced boss replied with equal kindness. He was an idiot to think he could limit us to his vulgar ways, the Russian thought vaguely.

The Russian leader smiled warmly and made to sit across from him, ignoring the slightly annoyed look from the British attendees. "Same for you, Mr. Roosevelt." He said in his thick accent.

Alfred was looking up at Russia with a smile that mimicked the politician's, one that failed to cover the extreme distaste pointed at the silverette. Arthur smirked at the front of the table. Instead of saying anything to the conspirators, Ivan took his seat next to his boss and offered up a matching smile to the American. The smile dropped momentarily off Alfred's face when he stuck his tongue out and quickly had to bite it when his boss elbowed him in the side with a glare. "Let us begin…" Called the speaker before Britain announced the time and opened the floor.

Progress was slow the first meeting. All the trivial things had to be gotten rid of first, items like terms of surrender and then the dividing of Germany. Why was America smiling at him? Oh, he's smiling at his Boss… Mr. Roosevelt looks really sick, Russia noted in interest. His frame had gotten noticeably frailer since the Morocco meeting. The silverette snorted in half-satisfaction. Old men. Maybe the feeble thing will finally give into the right demands and give us all we need.

America began glaring, this time directly at Russia. The blonde's face withheld its usual cheery smile from Ivan. How he hated that. The smile everyone else gets was permanently barred from being shown in his direction. The soft sunshine that warms even the coldest bones. Taking Lithuania away for too long and calling me awful things to my face and behind my back! I am not a monster like he; that forgetful backstabbing brat. The Russian smiled his best smile at the privileged child whom grimaced and grit his pearly whites. How mature! Alfred just stuck his tongue out and got elbowed from his thin boss.

Ivan snuck a glance at Josef just to see if he had been paying attention and was instantly ashamed. Stalin was looking at him with that warm look of a father indulging a particularly stupid child. That look was a warning. That particular expression waved a banner of promised punishment if you tipped him, a task which was not all that difficult. Russia looked down at his hands with a guilty face. He would have to be perfect for the rest of the meeting now… If only America would stop boring angry holes into his head! I know he hates me but can't he be civil, for the sake of my health and old times?

The end of the meeting came painfully slow and the humans got up to take a quick stroll of the gardens and take a picture. The westerners were so fond of pictures. That left the Big Three alone in a conference room. Why had Stalin waved him away from the departing party again? So what if he was not allowed in pictures or near the press! America and his bushy browed former guardian had gotten up to converse near the door. Alfred seemed to dominate the air though, whether it was his loud voice or the fact Ivan was listening to only him. The sound was obnoxious, why was he listening?

"At least that Russian Red can supply men to fight with! Demons against Kamikazes, I say." Alfred said impossibly louder, the glasses perched on his nose jostling with how much his big mouth was moving. "Yeah, the old man wants me to ask him to help out with the Empire of Japan but I think I got it down." He laughed and Britain smirked before darting his eyes towards the shaking blob of black aura staring straight at them with a creepy smile.

The Russian tried to keep up his happy smile, do not let him get to you. "I am still here, America." Ivan said as calmly as possible as he rose from his seat to tower above the two.

Alfred smirked haughtily and his sky blue eyes sparkled around his sunny bangs with a glint of mischief and defiance. "So you say." He replied simply.

Russia did not even want to translate that bit of slang and just assumed he was back talking. "Who said I would help you?" He questioned tartly.

"Who said I wanted to ask you to?" He shot back, raising a dark brow.

Russia giggled. "I will wait for you to crawl to me for help, kapitalisticheskai svini. Just so I can lend a hand to a valuable ally." He said in glee. What a sight that would make.

His jaw set in a tight grip. Worried about losing, more than likely. "So you can treat me like the Baltics? I am not into creepers, Russia."

"Of course you would like being treated better than trash, an idiot like you could never accept his place-"

A fist connected with Ivan's jaw and he reflexively sent a matching punch that knocked Texas off its owner's face. Alfred's eyes were wide with excitement when they both regained their posture and locked gazes. Texas lay with a broken leg on the ground, forgotten for the moment. Those blue eyes racing with adrenaline looked steeled with invincibility. Finally, Ivan had a coherent thought; I enjoyed that… The feeling of fists flying and breaking each other… It felt amazingly good.

This time they came at the other in sync. The Russian pulled out his old pipe to smash it into America's ribs as Alfred kicked him in the gut. The two fell away panting lightly when a tap of the foot was heard at the door, their fun cut short before it could even begin to mature. Russia immediately fell from his euphoric high at the sight of Stalin smiling in the doorway. "America, Britain, your bosses want to see you now. Please join them to go to your lodgings." He informed them, completely ignoring Ivan. That was bad, very bad.

America shot him one last look of lingering distaste. Britain seemed hard pressed not to laugh or quiver like a frightened child but Alfred was just so fearless. When they were gone, Stalin waved his hand in a friendly manner to follow him. "It is time to retire." He said, switching back to his native tongue to speak with his nation. It was so simple.

First Stalin would drink as he watched Russia squirm in his spot. Then he would ask a random question. It mattered not if Ivan got it right or wrong, he would be punished for his transgressions either way. So it was this time.

"Ivan," Josef asked eventually, a bottle of precious vodka drained already. Ivan looked up from his seat to look pleadingly at his inhibited boss. The question. "Why do you smile all the time?" He smiled. "Be honest, honesty is the best policy."

This question caught him off guard. Usually he asked something about the Soviet Socialist Republic or the revolutions. He was unsure how to answer so he did it honestly. "Because I want America to laugh at my smile like he used to." Russia replied in a soft voice after a long moment of hesitation, surprising himself with the answer.

The smile dropped and the empty bottle was raised to strike Ivan. He made no attempt to shield himself from the blow to the head his boss dealt him. "Wrong!" the man shouted in a drunken splurge. "You smile because you are happy in the Union! Our people are happy to be free from those PIGS that PLOT AGAINST OUR HAPPINESS!" he swung the bottle in an arc and caught Ivan's already bruised cheek a la America, knocking him out of his chair to the floor. "They negotiate separate peace with the GERMANS and are building a bomb that will DESTROY MANY and threaten us! So what do you do? Pick fights like a stupid child playing with the Siberian Tiger? Be a man!" he continued striking the silent nation until he got tired and simply left to his personal bedroom. Ivan continued to just lie there, unwilling to move.

Why did everyone hate him? No one really wanted him… not even America. He had ignored him so much then gotten angry when Russia had finally achieved his goal of freedom! America just wanted to be the only right one… that he was not happy for Ivan setting his people free from the reign of terror that the Tsars had wielded really hurt and confused him. Why did America leave him all alone? He had seen him many times in battle and during D-day… but he just hated him for some reason…

"Braht… Vanya, let's get up…" Yekaterina cooed softly. Ivan was lifted into equally cold arms and held tightly against an ample bosom fleetingly. Katyusha was trying to prod him on his feet. Only now did he realize tears were leaking from his swollen eyes and leaking down his pale cheeks. Though, for once, Katyusha's were dry, if not deeply sad. "Vanya, get up to get to your bed at least…" she tried again.

Russia hugged the worker's arms for a brief moment before pulling himself up to his feet and offering his sestra a hand up as well. "Spasibo, Sestra…" Ivan whispered almost incoherently before locking himself in his bedroom, leaving his sister in the receiving room. No more crying was allowed that night. He would not allow himself to go back down to that level again.

The next three days got considerable compromises. Stalin agreed to help join the Pacific War 90 days after the current war ended. The splitting of Poland was satisfactory to all and Stalin even conceded to give France some land. Russia's buffer lands were secure as well as part of Poland.

And no matter how much he wanted to because of America's goading, he did not hit the American again. He just smiled the best he could and pretended he was happy. He was happy. Russia was the happiest nation around!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`._-(^_^)-_.'~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

America's boss traveled around the old world for a while as a final act of International Diplomacy. By the end he no longer believed Stalin would hold to his promises of free election. Roosevelt died and left his vice in the office without briefing him. Within the year, a man newly brought into the circle met Alfred F. Jones and traveled to Potsdam for his first conference. Truman was informed of the Manhattan Project and current political affairs, apparently because he had been ignorant as Vice President due to his short occupation time (it was too bad Ted Hall did not inform him as well, Russia inwardly giggled at the news). This was what Hungary told Soviet Russia in her monthly reports. Czechoslovakia said the same; the New American President was like a child that had its eyes freshly ripped open to the world. What would this new child behold? Already the nuclear testing in New Mexico was a success shared openly between the English speaking nations. What came next?

Russia conversed quietly with Mr. Molotov, his Foreign Minister, waiting for the others to arrive in Potsdam. Personally, it had delighted the Soviet Nation to no end that they were completely at ease in occupied Germany. He had even been able to smile sweetly at Ludwig and tell him how excited he was to be getting East Prussia! Ludwig had even had nerve to tell him he would get him back! How cute~ Germany was always such a surprise.

Eventually his attention was torn from the dull faced Foreign Minister and refocused on the approaching blonde nations. Alfred was smiling comfortingly at a very flustered and noticeably nervous sharp nosed man. "You can do it Harry." Alfred said softly before he knew they were in earshot of the largest of their allies. "Politicians don't bite and nations are not concerned with messing with humans. Relax and lead." Such comforting words from a guy that punches you in the face and stabs you in the back, Russia thought sourly.

"America neglects to tell you that even nations do not bite people for no reason." Ivan cut in, bringing those sky blue eyes up to his in agitation already. "Although some are prone to fling fists at Allies." He added just to see the bright red face and mock glare of righteous patience. He had the cutest faces when he was worked up.

The suit clad North American let a condescending smile fall over his features as he spoke very slowly, as if addressing a child who could not understand English. "Mr. President, this is the personification of Soviet Russia. Russia, this is President Harry Truman." His country name came out like a nasty curse on the American's tongue.

The President looked just as delighted to see him as his nation was. "Good to meet you, Russia…" Truman smiled hesitantly. He looked like someone had whacked him upside the head, making him realize where he was. The human looked speculatively over Russia as if trying to discern what kind of sinister creature he was.

"Same to you, Mr. Truman." Russia replied in a cheery voice. "This is Premier Stalin, Foreign Minister Molotov, and Ambassador Gromyko." He introduced them by gesturing in turn to his dignitaries. Truman explained that Britain's party would be delayed in coming but would be here soon.

Pictures were, again, taken outside in the gardens as if Politicians were elder suit models. Stalin stood out in his rather dignified military coat that buttoned down straight amidst a group of designer overlap jackets. There were even colour portraits this time!

The meeting finally took place when Britain arrived with Churchill, who was later to be replaced by his accompanying companion Mr. Attlee. Through compulsively staring at the oblivious American it was soon established that the new President was not a baby. He was unaccustomed to the ballroom but he recognized the dances, so to speak. Like a young teenager bursting with new knowledge and things to do with it, but still struggling to free itself from its wise old mother. Truman was sincerely suspicious of Stalin for many reasons. Just by his reaction to Stalin's rejection of the idea for early withdrawal from Iran showed how much he distrusted the Slavs.

Churchill was replaced by Attlee. More pictures were taken in lawn chairs. This one did not outright call Russia's boss the Devil, so he was more bearable than Winston had been. Things were agreed upon and the plans became cemented within the duration of the conference at the large round table. Well, as cemented as the westerners could convince themselves of. The Red army still covered most of Europe, so it was almost painfully obvious who was in charge. Russia almost laughed out loud when Truman leaned close to Stalin and 'let him in' on a hint of the big secret.

"We have a new weapon of unusually destructive force…" The American confided in him on the 25th of July.

Stalin, as the master of smiles, appeared disinterested. "Is that so?" he asked rhetorically, making the President look at him with a quizzical expression. Imagine his confusion!

America smirked at him-the 27th time in the last few days- and Russia smiled again. Another giggle finally dismayed the blonde's inner chagrin and he went back to business. The use of Atomic bombs on Japan was secretly approved that day.

August 6th of the same year Stalin and his nation received the news. Little Boy had been dropped from Enola Gay onto Hiroshima. Two days later Bockscar dropped Fat Man on Nagasaki. The reports and photos that were stolen and transferred to Moscow were breathtaking. A weapon that created destruction akin to volcanic eruption, and surpassed it by far. Nippon surrendered easily to the nation of Godlike power… power that could protect Russia from enemies if he had his own. How many did America have? Certainly a supply in case of incident. They could be used against him, overpower any and all he could hope to throw at the awesome destruction.

Russia was not the only one unsettled. "Ivan, we are going to make our own. For the people." Stalin declared to him.

His dilapidated heart almost wanted to fall out of his chest. For the people! He could protect his children now! Work started immediately on a Soviet nuke. Four years was all it took to detonate.

America could never stop bothering him with converting to the Filthy ways of Western Democracy. Russia rebuked the offensive Marshall Plan that America flaunted with the other Allies and offered to the Soviet Union for the sake of being a gloating pig. The Eastern Bloc and COMECON battled that. Then later NATO was formed as a backlash and Ivan set up the Warsaw Pact. There was no end to the little battles. There was even resistance when he began his wall between the Russian part of Berlin and the west! Though he had gotten the inexplicable pleasure of finally having China with him, Ivan's long struggle to become close with Yao had finally bore fruits! He had even launched Sputnik into space! It was an allover win kind of decade, except when Khrushchev was denied entrance to the American Disneyland during his vacation to the states for whatever reason. It was evened out though when Russia shot down an American spy plane~

They always watched each other like hawks. Oh, but Russia had two legs up on Alfred in espionage. He was everywhere. Every branch of American government held a socialist sympathizer. If America thought Truman had ratted them all out he was dead wrong. America had nothing on him! But the things Ivan knew were endless…

The worst of these plots against the Soviet people unearthed through espionage was the American missiles in Turkey Cemal-bey had approved of. It was just like Sadik to do this to him! Russia could hardly name a time when he hadn't wanted to punch the old man, politically or personally. Alliances with him never really turned out right. But Ivan digressed, there was a problem that they were short range and trained on Moscow. They were already waging secret war with each other in the Koreas; it was not as big a step as one would think to shift to direct combat.

So, in retaliation, he got Cuba to agree to do the same. Fidel Castro was all for secretly building Soviet missiles trained on most of continental America. Russia was sure this would turn out like any other underhand threat America made against him. Like the Bay of Pigs, he would win. Then America discovered his Cuban missiles.

This was when everything blew out of proportion (no pun intended, since it was perfectly in proportion). America had come racing to confront him immediately. There was not the usual show of dramatics in his visit. Kennedy did not come with him and likewise Stalin was not informed on the subject of the personal confrontation. Alfred came as a human, not a nation bent on being political about this.

"Russia, I am not here on formal business." Was the first thing he said when he confronted Ivan on the streets of Moscow. "We need to talk." He demanded calmly.

Pushing aside all his curiosity of how Alfred had snaked away from his government, Ivan silently ushered him to his personal little house on the edge of the city that he kept the nations behind the Iron Curtain. It was the only place absolutely no humans were allowed in. Not that Stalin cared, in his eyes Russia was all of the nations. He had assumed that under the Union all the nations would simply become part of the Russian personification and left it at that.

Lithuania was the only one that greeted them and was quickly shooed away by Russia's glare upon the man gaping at Alfred. The American made no qualm against his old friend being dismissed before he could greet them. They moved swiftly in a beeline for Ivan's study, away from all ears. This was only for them.

The study was a cozy place that Toris took great pains to keep warm by stoking the fireplace twice daily. Shelves of books littered the walls and stacks took up the better part of the goodly sized table settled between two plush high backed chairs. Alfred would probably recognize the ones on the table as his own volumes of mechanics and science, coupled with new Cyrillic versions that were based off of the American's work. The shelves were crammed with everything from German poets to the pitiful few Soviet cynics. History books were numerous as various political Manifestos and Declarations. French titles were certainly not scarce here.

Yet none of those humans mattered at the moment, they were merely to be a human backdrop for an entirely human conversation. Ivan took his usual reading seat to the left of the fire, the red one with large carved knobs on the top, and gestured for America to take the dark green one across the table from him. As he acquiesced Russia noted his strange clothes. Alfred was not in his usual bomber jacket or suit. Instead he wore a long sleeved turtle neck with diamond designs under a loose black jacket that flipped up at the wrist to reveal sun kissed skin and brown leather gloves that hardly covered his palms. The bottom half of his jeans belled out strangely in an excess of fabric. All in all, he looked different in his teen fashion. All this time he just sat there silently watching the Russian take in his casual appearance with a torn look on his face, debating whether to say something first or let the other man do it. The air was so thick with tension it was almost palpable, but Russia remained silent.

When it became apparent that the unfriendly and unaccepting mood would prevent them from getting anywhere if left up to the blonde, Russia finally took the initiative. "America, why are you here alone?" Ivan finally asked.

The Western superpower let out a deep breath and looked at his biggest adversary eye to eye. "I'm here as Alfred because my people don't know yet." The blonde admitted.

"Letting them live in ignorance?" Russia commented snidely with a cute innocent smile.

The American's eye twitched subtly. "It's not any worse than the complete ignorance your people live in." he shot back.

Ivan clucked his tongue. "At least they are liberated from your devious ways." Then, when Alfred seemed about to open his mouth with another retort, he added. "Alfred, you did not come all this way for a snarky argument. Get to the point before I will not hear you out."

Alfred resigned himself to save his prepared insult and get back to the reason he was here. "Russia, you need to remove your missiles from Cuba." He ordered informally.

"Nyet. Why should I leave myself open to your attacks from Turkey?" Ivan denied. "And do call me Ivan since we are on such an informal note apparently." He smiled pleasantly at the frustrated looking American.

"Because this is not what we want. If this continues we will have Mutually Assured Destruction. I can't take the missiles out of Turkey" he tried to explain.

Ivan shook his head. "And I cannot in sound mind remove them from Cuba while I have a target on my head."

Both men fell quiet for a moment, knowing there was no middle ground. There was no compromise that would come about from this meeting. The crackle of the fire seemed to laugh at their folly in getting into this precarious situation. Neither wanted to die, so they could not go either way it was a stalemate.

"Why can't you just stop?" Alfred whispered to himself. Russia barely heard it.

"I can only stop when you quit barreling forward."

America looked up angrily at this reply. "So you are okay with endangering an entire continent's worth of people just to make sure I am not in charge? How petty, Ivan." He spat.

Ivan laughed. "Me? Petty? That's a bit hypocritical for a narcissist like you, Alfred." There was no smile on his face and his voice dropped down to its natural pitch. He was no longer in the mood to play if it was this far.

"Why are you so intent on making yourself look good?" Alfred shouted, leaning forward in his seat as if preparing to launch himself across the table.

"Why are you intent on fooling everyone into thinking you're perfect so you can give them false hopes of being saved?" Russia seethed as he matched his guest's position.

"Because I want everyone to be happy!" the blonde replied through his gritted teeth.

"Ha, you spread more misery with your broken promises than you do happiness!"

"GOD, I HATE YOU! YOU SICK BASTARD." Alfred announced in an unnecessarily loud voice.

Ivan grunted in amusement. "At least that makes two of us" he said acerbically.

That was it. Alfred's little self-restraint snapped and Ivan was only too happy to meet him halfway across the table. They fell upon each other with gnashing teeth and grappling hands, both seizing the other's throat as they rolled to the floor in their struggle. Russia felt like he was in ecstasy, seeing those blue eyes boiling over with fitful hatred. The feel of his hands wrapped around the tanned neck of his enemy. He growled at the foot that collided with his stomach and kicked him off the blonde. Ivan's back struck the rock mantle of the fireplace and was quickly assaulted with an American body wielding a fist that immediately slammed into his face. Alfred got in another hit before Russia could knock him back with an elbow to the jaw.

In no time Ivan had thrown himself back on America and was tangling legs with the Capitalist in an attempt to immobilize him. But no matter what, no one was budging on their equal hold on the other. Ivan, in his unthinking mind, simply did what his instincts told his muscles to do. He leaned down and connected lips with Alfred and was met with no resistance. Even through their continued struggle, Alfred was kissing back violently. There were teeth and imposing tongues battling as their limbs were, but their newest battle was failing. Hands attempting to strangle each other contrasted startlingly with their gradually passionate make out.

For a moment, Ivan thought the American was going to stop fighting and loosened his grip. Wrong. Two feet kicked him across the room this time and he crashed into his chair, knocking it over. Immediately Ivan steeled his countenance as he locked eyes with the sprawled out American on the floor. Slowly, Alfred rose and wiped his mouth of blood and Ivan on the back of his sleeve. There was no emotion between them, just blankness when there had only before been hate. America walked out of his house without a word and Russia made no move to even get up.

And, as it happened, from his position on the ground he could see a very conspicuous white lump under the table. The plain cloth had been pulled just enough to reveal his apprehensive dilated rubies following the giant's every move. Prussia would have run for his life if he was not still bound and gagged from when Russia had left him as a joke during his last visit home. Lithuania had been afraid of untying him in case Russia wanted him kept there, but thankfully fed him.

Russia smiled sweetly at him and crawled playfully over to touch noses with the bound German. He giggled when Gilbert squirmed with eyed wide in fear of what might happen. The Slav just listlessly ran his fingertips over his Albino victim's face gently. "Silly Gilbert," Ivan whispered softly in his falsetto voice. "You must take your punishment for listening. That way I can know you will be quiet, da?" he giggled, latching onto Gilbert's neck and tearing him away from his bastion.

The former empire struggled uselessly as he was pulled up on his knees in front of Ivan with his face pressed into the carpet. A loan moan of pain made its way past the cloth gag tied across his mouth as his bound arms were pulled harshly up to make him assume the proper position while Ivan deftly undid the knots around his knees and ankles. His legs were spread wide and not another moment was wasted as Ivan unbuttoned his pants and impatiently slammed into the awaiting entrance. He savored the distressed grunts from the GDR Nation and continued to thrust into him. He was not going to think about Alfred. He was NOT going to think about ALFRED. He was… still uncontrollably thinking about Alfred. How he had been writhing beneath him. The feel of those lips that recalled to mind a few precious others. Times he had been happy because of Alfred. But Alfred himself had taken that happiness away before it could bloom. What kind of hero ostracizes the one that loves him most?

Love? Ivan ceased movement briefly, to Gilbert's secret dismay. No, not love… he continued with his thrusting in an attempt to stop thinking, how could he have thought that? He finished up and pulled out of the Albino and stood, leaving Gilbert with a hard on and no hands to relieve it. He was too busy trying not to think.

He failed horribly. A few months' time brought a secret agreement between the two governments to mutually vacate the third party with their missiles shipped back home and sign a Test Ban Treaty. But Russia could not keep his mind off the blonde all through the exclusive agreement between humans.

That was why, in 1963, Ivan used Canada to escort him to Dallas, Texas where the current President of America was going to garner support in his reelection campaign.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`.-(^_^)-.`~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a while since Alfred had visited Texas, his southernmost state. He remembered when the rascal had first joined up, before the Great War- the First World War. Texas had wanted to be in the United States, but separate with its own laws and everything. He had agreed to let the former Mexican territory into the States and fly its flag on the same level as America's. Alfred was going back this week with President Kennedy and the wife.

Due to one of JFK's people warning him to put off the trip, Alfred had to wear a secret service suit and ride with the security cars during the parade around Dallas. He was just glad Jackie was coming along, he missed seeing her. This was going to be her first trip since the baby died. Alfred could honestly say he loved the woman to death- she was the most elegant, American, kind hearted and educated lady he had met in a long while. He was proud to call her one of his favourite citizens.

And as much as he loved the multilingual First Lady, he adored his President. At first there were some reservations about his religion and a few leftist rumors but overall; he really felt attached to this one. Kennedy was the just the most honest guy, and he believed in equality (not the Commie kind though). His kids brought cheer into the White House as surely as Jacqueline brought style. John had a naval background and was a light hearted family man. There was not a situation he couldn't throw an appropriate joke into.

In short, he was taking a trip to Dallas to reelect the couple he absolutely enjoyed having in office. It was a plus that they were exciting enough to claim all his attention and turn it away from things he didn't want to think about.

So when that plane touched down in Lovefield and Jackie stepped out first in her petal pink suit to dazzle the crowd, there was nothing but pride swelling up inside Alfred for his people. John followed on her heels as Americans shouted their welcome, in both sides of the coin that is southern hospitality. Then America emerged behind them in his guise of the secret service men. He missed his jeans and was itching for his puffy tie-dye shirt he was growing fond of. Jacky had already shaken her finger at him and insisted he never wear it in public. She always made him laugh, reprimanding a nation, though she was not exactly sure what his purpose was. To the First Lady, he was just a strange man that followed her husband everywhere then just disappeared for weeks to return in the latest street fashion.

Man, oh man, was he so happy when the Kennedys immediately went to shake hands with the crowd! They just did an impromptu detour into the throng of awaiting citizens. The actual secret service guys were exasperated when they had to find the President amidst all the people and lead him to the convertible.

Alfred loaded up into the follow up car and almost bounced in his seat. The agent next to him gave him a look and the nation ignored it, his spirits were soaring with the reception. Look how peaceful his country was! Good American people, that's what. He could always count on Texas for patriotism nowadays! He felt exuberant as if it was a big celebration and nothing could touch on his mind.

The Presidential Parade was going on for a while when they came up to Dealey Plaza. Alfred remembered seeing this weird water thing surrounded by a white stone fence and wondering if it actually had water in it and how deep it was. Was there water in this heat? They turned on the street and Alfred took a closer look to see it indeed had water in it. But, as a clock struck 12:30, he locked eyes with a brilliant purple and a loud boom echoed through the streets.

Oh, god no! He tore his eyes away without thinking about anything but the noise. He had known too many wars to not recognize it. The applause continued, like an intangible background. Another shot rang out followed by a third when the President raised his head after going down during the second. Alfred's head exploded in agony. John slumped in the seat and Jacqueline turned around and simply let out a disbelieving "oh no!" a fourth shot was heard.

She immediately threw herself over the seats to check him and a bystander shouted in horror. "Oh god, they shot Jackie!" Oh, wrong person! Alfred wanted to scream. He already knew what happened, drive to a hospital! The agent next to him jumped out and traversed the back of the black convertible to see the damage.

They drove out of the parade to stop on the side of the road and reach a decision. It was quickly ascertained that a hospital was necessary. The Governor would live but John's heartbeat was getting soft in Alfred's ears by the time they reached a hospital. At one a 'clock the Catholic Priest pronounced him dead after Last Rights. A terrible emptiness fell over Alfred.

For some reason, he found himself in his brother's arms. His mouth was dry and salty, and he knew it was the tears of those that already understood. The President was assassinated. Kennedy was not coming back…like so many naturally before him. It wasn't his time! There was no war waging. Who had done this? A dark wet spot appeared on the shoulder of Matthew's button down shirt as Alfred wept. He did not have the mind to even wonder why his twin was so far south. The familiar tickle of long French hair against his cheek felt comforting to him. The soft Canadian slur of French words soothed the pounding silence in his head, even if he didn't remember what it meant.

The name rang from his tongue as he watched Jackie don her mourning veil that afternoon after Mattie had left; Lee Harvey Oswald, a man with absolutely no preexisting criminal record. Hiding out in the Texas Theatre he had shot an investigating cop. Everything matched up with the man that played dumb. If he was not overseeing the inauguration of Johnson into Presidency…

Then, almost like a double hit, that man in the hat shot Oswald right after the press asked him if he had anything to say in his defense. This man was Jack Ruby, a defector with a Russian wife that he brought back to the states with him. He had been in the Soviet Union!

An elaborate conspiracy unveiled in Alfred's head as he rolled up a joint of cannabis and lit up in his Texas Apartment. He was secretly glad he had slipped away effectively from the chaos. Lyndon would have to understand his human qualities after all… but there was something he had to think about. He went over everything about the whole ordeal. The shooting, Oswald, Ruby, the detainment of the body.

A conspiracy.

That's it. Jack Ruby was a Commie. The Reds were corrupting Americans to assassinate the President, and then send Jack Ruby to clean up in case he spilled about… the government! The Reds were corrupting the officials into a National plot to establish communism! It all made sense… America took another long drag and banged his head back against the wall he was leaning up against in his cheap bed.

Who knew one trip to win over Texas and secure his next term would end in such horrid tones... revealing Socialist plots against American freedom… corruption of government…

By the time he could work up the energy to go back to the White House in D.C. he had a surprise waiting in the form of a blatant teletype sitting in the Oval Office. At first he laughed, thinking Lyndon had some stupid sense of style. "Get tired of the phone?" he asked right before noticing that the old black phone was still there.

Mr. Johnson shook his head at his Nation. "No, I tried to locate you but I read in the Presidential diary that you… would object no matter what…" he trailed off looking at the bright object of the conversation uneasily.

Alfred set his jaw and asked sternly. "Where is the other end?" he demanded with heavy authority.

The President was reluctant to continue. "We had a meeting between the Premier and I- without the personifications present- while you were missing. This links us to the Kremlin 24/7."

Alfred stormed out and refused to touch the thing until '67 when Soviet Union forces cooperated with American during the Egypt-Israel war, and then only to avoid confusion or accidental attacks. Alfred could hardly stomach talking to Ivan for longer than a second and kept all their conversations short and to the point, never addressing him. Russia did the same.

Dragging him through the negotiations for SALT I was the hardest thing Nixon ever did. Listening to America gripe about what they had being enough of an agreement between them. He never had an easy way of literally bringing a drag footed Alfred to Vienna for the first meeting and never expected it to get worse than that.

The moment the doors opened America was no longer the depressive nation, letting his sickness get the best of him because he was wholly against meeting with the Russians. Immortal blue and purple locked gazes and suddenly the blonde straightened his posture and slapped on an exaggerated grin that seemed a little too sharp for friendliness. The silverette kept his saccharine smile pointed directly at the American. Nixon's face drained at the sudden loss of a friendly air and considered it a mistake to bring the blonde along. Not that Alfred seemed to like him anyways but it could detract from their miniscule progress towards peace.

"Russia." Alfred greeted curtly.

"America." The Russian returned.

The two continued their friendly façade as everyone took their seats silently. They fought constantly- every five seconds for the first two hours until it was mutually agreed that the nations should keep their comments limited to using their representative (since Ivan spoke English and Alfred had some passable understanding of Russian that he denied, this did little to the silent stew pot between them.) nothing was agreed on the first day and everyone was let out to go their own way.

"What the hell, Jones! Is there not a diplomatic bone in your body?" Nixon hissed quietly when they got out.

Alfred just snorted as he watched the petal pink tips of a scarp disappear behind a corner with the Russian party. He only then turned to his President with an irate grimace. "Just call me America, Richie." He corrected in his bias against this certain man. "And you shouldn't push aside my prejudices; I've known Russia for longer than you're grandma has lived." Alfred rebuffed as he strode forward to their allotted corridor.

The darker haired man stopped him with a hesitant hand. "But you should still know how sick you are because of this Arms Race. I am supposed to take care of you and I don't think you will make the right choice to fix this before you drive my country into the ground with the Reds."

Alfred looked back at him sharply, yanking his arm out of the weak grip. "I belong to the people, not you. Have a great day, kiddo." He snapped before smiling sweetly as he turned on his heels and stormed into his room.

The final day at first marked another day in succession of Alfred talking back to his boss and understanding the general extent in which Russia was willing to concede- which was mutually a pittance. After arguing at the meeting, arguing with Russia silently, and being an ass to Nixon all the way back to his room, Alfred found himself extremely restless. Not a bed tossing restless. It was a need-to-get-up-and-roam kind of restless.

So he decided to put on his contraband jeans and open chested button up shirt under his beloved bomber jacket. Curse it if the outfit stood out, he was comfortable. There was no resistance from anyone as he slipped away into the streets of Vienna with a wad of shells in his pocket. Nixon must have been talking to them about dinner plans or something, because none of the other American attendants bumped into him on his way out. There were still a couple hours before it would be dark, it sounded like a good idea to get some grub for himself.

He skipped hopping on the cable car and chose to oversee the scenery instead. It occurred to him that he could get Austria to show him around, but that was quickly shot down. Roderick was too stiff and would make this an awfully boring excursion. He eventually found himself singing to himself, attracting strange stares from everyone around him. "I Can't Quit You, Baby, so I'm gonna put you down for a while." He sang out with a funny smile. A window passed by and he started up again. "Said you messed up my happy home, made me mistreat my only child. Said you know I love you, baby, my love for you I could never hide. Oh, when I feel you near me little girl, I know you are my one desire…" his head did a double take at the record window store he just passed. Crazy hair and wild boy smiles looked back at him from the Led Zeppelin cover in hanging there. Austria had cool Musicians? No way!

He laughed loudly and continued on his way. Up ahead he saw something that looked like a nice Austrian restaurant. "When you hear me moaning and groaning, you know it hurts me deep down inside. Oh, when you hear me... You know you're my one desire. Yes, you are." He continued and did a neat grind into the air as his head whipped side to side, making it hard to walk straight. Oh, that man had a groove!

He locked gazes with his feet a moment, thinking about launching off into a Beatles song when he crashed into the side of the restaurant door and realized he was there already. Walking in the commandeered an entire booth to himself to fit all the food he was going to order out of Nixon's fat paycheck. The waitress took in his embarrassed smile when he simply said: “Bier unt alles, bitte." This was most of his conversational German he had learned after WW2 during the meetings in occupied Germany. The woman shook her head in amusement and replied in actual Austrian knowing she would not be answered before bounding away to fill the order.

America kicked back to flip through the unused menu on the table and took up softly singing the time away, not expecting anything interesting to happen. "Joan was quizzical, studied metaphysical, science in the home. Late nights all alone in a test tube ohh-oh-oh! Maxwell Edison, majoring in medicine, calls her on the phone. Can I take you out to the pictures, Joan?" Alfred's gaze was caught up in playing with the silverware on his table, unaware of two fellow foreigners entering the establishment. "But as she's getting ready to leave, a knock comes on the door…"

Tap tap

Alfred's eyes shot up to meet purple ones and decided to continue the song for the Russian smiling at him from beside his Premier, who started sitting down across from the American in the booth, dodging the pipe that had called attention to them that was resting on the table. "Bang, bang. Russia's silver faucet came down on her head. Bang, bang. Russia's silver pipe made sure she was dead." He smirked as the elder gave him a look that made it obvious he had no such understanding of the joke. Gah, he probably hadn't even heard of the Beatles before!

Ivan looked down at him for a moment before his boss spoke up in Russian to tell him to stop it. The silverette sat down promptly next to Brezhnev with a certain reserved submission that made Alfred smirk happily as the metal weapon disappeared under his tan coat. "Ah, Amerika, vere is your Prezident?" the old man spoke up in a heavy accent.

Alfred smiled blindingly. "Got no idea, man."

Confusion crossed Leonid's face and he turned to ask Ivan what the American had said. Ivan translated a bit lengthily and Brezhnev smiled at a Capitalist children joke that was thrown in there. Ivan even flashed a smirk at Alfred, letting him know he knew Alfred got the gist of the discussion. "He wants to know why you do not eat with your President." Russia announced eventually.

The waitress showed back up and smiled at the two Russians as she set Alfred's beer down and asked the newcomers what they wanted. The two turned to engage in some deep debate about what they wanted. Alfred sighed when the unwanted guests caused the girl to make a distressed face so he vetoed their choice in the matter. He held up two fingers and nodded his head towards the Slavs. "Bier… unt vurst." He pulled the only other food word he knew. The waitress nodded and laughed before leaving them again. "And I don't always have to be with the President, that's why." He replied defensively. Why did they even sit here? No one invited them to share this booth… even though Russia doesn't exactly look happy about it…

Russia again translated for his boss. "And you're speaking awful German to an Austrian, you know." Russia teased. "And Leonid wants to thank you for ordering, though he is not fond of beer."

"He can get over it, they don't sell vodka here and I don't speak Austrian." He retorted. "Besides, German beer is as good as Iggy's bro's beer… Ireland, in case you were wondering." Alfred supplied at the raised eyebrow.

Russia held up his hands in defeat. "I was merely translating his tastes that I happen to have." He grinned.

Alfred huffed at him as the food and beer were brought. The Premier looked at the assortment of plates covering the table in astonishment. He said something along the lines of 'holy shit, he got us a feast'. Then Russia calmly informed him that America was a pig and it was all his. Needless to say, the look crossed into disgustedly amazed at the comment. "Whatever, you guys will get your own food in a minute." Alfred said, choosing to ignore the 'secret' jokes.

"I think I will get some now." Russia commented slyly as he snatched a piece of meat with his fork and quickly plopped it into his mouth.

Alfred was slack jawed. "What the fuck, commie? Stealing my food!" he spat in bewildered anger.

"That hurts, America, I am merely tasting it." Ivan giggled cutely, that gleam in his eye begging Alfred to contest.

Eyes slit in suspicion, Alfred set to devouring his food as fast as possible. But even his super speed was not fast enough to stop Ivan from stealing more food. Here they threw English insults at each other like missiles in Armageddon. Brezhnev sat quietly sipping on his beer and getting another when the waitress dropped off their wurst. America laughed in victory since Russia had no excuse to steal his food any longer but was quickly cut off when he stole another forkful from Alfred's plate, even with his own sitting in front of him. To combat the fiend, he ate open mouthed in an attempt to disgust Ivan. It worked. Russia looked away, his usual smile looking tighter than usual.

Then Russia kicked his shin under the table. "You know what, Red? I eat radioactive socialists for breakfast." Alfred informed him smoothly.

The Russian cocked an eyebrow and giggled. "Is that code word for American 'fast food'? Because then it would make sense that you are so obese." Ivan countered.

"At least I don't shoot my people."

"At least I do not lie to them and crush them with sadistic Capitalist ways."

They both ground their teeth behind friendly smiled that fooled no one. The mood was destroyed after the food was discovered to be gone and Russia's boss spoke up. "It is time to go, have a good night, Amerika." Brezhnev bid farewell, pulling Russia out behind him.

"Yeah, later." Alfred said off handedly following them out after grudgingly paying their part of the bill. Damn, why couldn't Kennedy still be here? Or even Lincoln! There were no commies back then!

He went out in the same way the Russians had gone a few minutes before and paused outside. He pulled a blunt out of his pocket and quickly nursed a flame to bloom on the end. A deep drag was exhaustedly breathed in before he dropped his hand in time with his head, kicking the pavement with the tip of his polished business shoe. Maybe he should have changed out of them so they wouldn't get scuffed out on the street… it's the last day anyways, he justified.

The pot slowly pulled his speeding heart back down to a normal beat and calmed his flip flopping stomach. He always got this way around Russia. It made him sick to be around him unless they were fighting or something, which was happening a lot lately. Hopefully he would get a no-compromise-with-commies President next, like Kennedy was. If that fucking Red hadn't taken him… the fag burned down to his lips before he dropped it to the ground to crush it undertow. Now he was ready to get back to the rooms and answer the Secret Service guys where he had been, Alfred thought gazing up at the sunset around the buildings, if he can remember the way to get there…

,,,,,,…..…..`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`..(^_^)..`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`…,,,,,,

Why Russia of all places? Why not some other country? Or mine- no. No, those commies will stay out of my country. Alfred paced along the back of the plane to bring the flow back to his legs. Damn Nixon actually wanting to go through with this (admittedly necessary) agreement! Now they were flying in the Presidential jet on their way to finish up and sign the culmination of SALT.

"Sit the fuck down, America." Richard chastised.

Can that guy ever act cool? He looks like is going to shoot someone any moment, and that's just his face. Alfred made a face at him and sat down again, trying to get comfortable. Maybe he could go to sleep? "Sir, we are approaching Moscow." Shit! Too soon!

"Seriously, you're making me nervous. Stop it." Nixon said again. Can't he shut his trap? Why is it so hard for him to get along with me?

The plane touched down and brought Alfred's nervous fretting down to a generic distrust of the world. But he was not paranoid, no. everyone was after him! A large party of people were waiting for them, foremost Brezhnev and Russia, with his creepy smile plastered on like a face lift… but his face was too chubby like a cute baby to have a face lift… Wait, what?

"Welcome, Mr. Nixon!" the Premier greeted warmly.

"Mr. Brezhnev!" the thick browed President replied in kind, shaking hands at the base of the stairs. Dude, their eyebrows look the same! Bad omen! America silently shouted in his head doing a weird jig to emphasize his inner revelation.

The two Nations locked gazes in a nervous game, flames of hate edition. The ambassadors and party of circus Russians followed as everyone piled in various cars to drive around quickly to see a few sites. Then on May 26th everyone gathered around the table to sign the two very important treaties. But… there were no cameras anywhere. Aren't they supposed to document this crap? Oh, right, they're Soviets. They don't do normal things. Alfred thought. Though it did give him the pleasure (was it pleasure? No because-) to stand by Russia and watch the two Iggy browed Diplomats sign the papers. Both the Anti-Ballistic Missiles Treaty and the ridiculously weirdly named Interim Agreement Between The United States of America and The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics on Certain Measures With Respect to the Limitation of Strategic Offensive Arms

Then everyone went out for drinks, as was Soviet tradition for everything. They went out and all of them got pretty hammered. Alfred did his best to sit on the most American part of the party. Just the harsh taste of vodka was bringing up unwanted memories from Russia. Especially that last night before the Bolshevik Revolution, the day the good Russia had been ripped out of Alfred's arms. There had been no kisses and tasting of vodka that night. No, it was the shattered bottle of it in the corner, a monument to their broken relationship. With a few shots already under his belt, Alfred found himself accepting the possibility of a relationship between them for the first time in forever, or at least it seemed that way. He was no Britain, getting all emotional and screaming at people. America drank quietly and just got really honest. He forewent the conspiracy theory to get them all drunk and wring government secrets out of them and just poured another shot to kill his frazzled nerves.

After a full bottle he got up and walked past the security that were too busy with the inhibited politicians laughing boisterously with their Russian counterparts. Humans were such children… Alfred stepped outside and walked down a block until he was sitting against some monument that looked like one guy 'heil'-ing to some kneeling Jesus guy in front of the huge ice cream castle. Actually… it looked kinda like a more colourful version of something he had seen once before… oh! The Mosque in Turkey from when he visited to get the missiles set up. Were there Muslims in Russia? But they're atheists… he digressed personally and just lit up a joint. Maybe it was not such a good idea to drink and smoke pot at the same time but… it was White Widow, his favourite. Not to mention being in Russia with the President made him frazzled.

Scowling old babushkas scurried around trying to get home before it was too dark, masterfully avoiding the strong looking men carrying purses around. Some businessmen with weary faces passed workers with drawn and dirty faces, etched with years of working constantly for next to nothing. No one smiled at the passive looking American they passed. Hell, no one even looked up. Alfred sighed and started walking back to the bar when the sunset had long passed to darkness. He took a few wrong turns on unsteady feet but eventually snuffed out his butt against the wall outside the bar and entered.

No one he knew was there. Not even a guy to watch for his return. Where were they staying again? No clue, he replied to himself. He made his way back out of the bar and set to wandering around, trying to find somewhere he recognized. An embassy, perhaps. Instead he found the Kremlin. Or rather, the wall of the Kremlin. Alfred flailed around the edges trying to find an entrance drunkenly, slapping the bricks with the back of his hand. "Fuck, theresh gotta be shome kin'a commie entransh!" he shouted frustrated in his badly slurred southern drawl.

A quiet chuckle interrupted his epic battle with the strong wall as a hand clasped over his mouth and an arm constricted tightly around his arms and waist. He kicked out his legs and tried to snake his way out of the grip to no avail; he was being pulled around to an entrance and taken inside under the guise of night. He was dragged an awfully long way until he was thrown into a dark room. A lock clicked into place and a light switch flipped on. In his fervor, he thought the bedroom was made of water. Attempts at rationalizing what was happening without turning around failed as miserably as the secret entrance thing did.

Things ranging from the KGB holding him hostage to Cat Woman kidnapping him for sexual fantasies (she was Russian, right..?) all ran through his head. For all he knew, the Mystery gang was investigating him. But, even in his bad judgment, he had to turn around. He had to turn around. Right. Now.

His feet stumbled to do as they were told and his knees instead decided to act up. Russia was right in front of him, looking down. The breath that assaulted the American's face was thick with the stench of alcohol. Whoa, he wasn't even smiling like he usually did! "Alfred, why were you trying to slap a hole in the wall?" he asked simply.

What to say? To lie or- "I thawt some commie shecret entransh wud let me in. cuz ya guyz tuk mah paypole!" Alfred shot back in the thickest southern talk possible.

"I have no idea what you just said." Ivan admitted. Then his eyes gleamed. "I guess Americans really are illiterate fools."

America was most certainly NOT drunk enough to let that slide, but too drunk to actually control himself at all. He swung a ruddy fist at the silverette freak for insulting him. "Take tha' ya yella bellied bastarrrrd!" Alfred had to basically force the sentence out of his locked jaw. Sadly, he was also drunk enough to have too much strength and no coordination.

Ivan caught his fist and quickly shoved him up against a wall, effectively pinning the struggling form with his body, their arms above Alfred's head. Ivan leaned down to look straight into the American's eyes with a playful yet murderously serious intent. "Was it because of what you were thinking at the bar? You looked…" the Russian struggled to find an English word for it as he paused. "… preoccupied and bitter." he settled on that wording. "What were you thinking about?"

Alfred scowled his face flush as he thought about the last time Ivan had been like this. When this whole nuclear spiel started. "What's it got ta do wichew?" Alfred burst out.

Ivan growled with a feral smirk. "Were you so bitter about not being able to blow up the whole world with your toys anymore? Angry that you could no longer blow me up so easily? That you can't slaughter innocent-"

"What if I wuz fuckin' thinking 'bout chew and vodka!" Alfred shouted. “I’m nawt a monsta'!" He defended angrily.

The room went silent for a moment. Ivan stared at him uncomprehendingly as Alfred continued breathing heavily in his anger, not realizing what he had said. "You were… thinking about me how?" Ivan asked hesitantly, hopefully.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Like this." He pressed his smoky lips to Ivan's and started kissing him. The large man immediately responded out of surprise and a basic lust it seemed. Alfred bit his lower lip harshly in response to a stray knee slipping between his wobbly legs. It rubbed against his crotch and he moaned, letting go of the bleeding flesh for a moment. Ivan took his chance to completely dominate the kiss for the open window of opportunity before the blonde plunged right back to struggling with him. The progress was quick and suddenly the American had his legs wrapped around the Russian's in an attempt to get more friction to his heated areas. "Pants!" he commanded in a breathy moan as Ivan moved to push his jacket back and nip at his neck.

The Russian complied as best as he could but it took a fair amount of jostling to slip Alfred's off as opposed to Ivan's own. The American's suit jacket was off and he was already working on the silverette's. Ivan growled when Alfred ripped off the pink scarf hastily but chose to bite his neck harshly instead of stopping to protect his precious object, causing the American to yelp. Even though Alfred was fumbling drunkenly with the buttons, he was surprised when Ivan's length prodded his entrance none too gently. The broad shouldered Russian impatiently began to slide himself in as his partner cried out in pain.

"I-Ivan! Gawd-" he was silenced with an aggressive pair of lips. Ivan was fully sheathed inside the drunken Western nation that whined and let out short breaths from being so painfully stretched. There was not much time between penetration and the first thrust that made the American whimper. The second thrust rubbed his prostate just barely, making the huge girth suddenly a little bearable. Maybe hearing the pleasured gasp, Ivan angled to keep on hitting that special spot.

Soon Alfred was moaning and scratching his nails down Ivan's back under the open shirt. They broke the violent kissing only to dip down and nip at each other's jaw and necks, leaving obvious and painful bruising. Alfred could feel a huge network of scars-some new- under his lips but he set about to probably add more in the shape of crescents anyway.

All at once it became too much and America cried out in ecstasy before shooting out all over their shirt tails. Feeling the clench of Alfred's insides, Ivan reached an orgasm inside of the suddenly limp Alfred with a stifled moan of pleasure. Alfred was slipping off into a deep slumber, his body unable to keep going with so much alcohol and overpowering sex. He didn't even feel it when his body was redressed and slung over a sturdy shoulder to be carried to his actual room where the Secret Service man self-posted to watch for the unknown man named Alfred looked the other way upon seeing his Russian employer. Ivan just nodded his head before unceremoniously plopping the American on his bed and leaving as silently as he had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10,954 words long… I guess first I should say the Summit meetings of the 80's are next chapter. Yes, I'm augmenting this. The Summits are important. Now to historical stuff…
> 
> Stalin is a really smiley guy who silenced/executed a lot of people but was great at speeches. Roosevelt didn't think he was all that bad until after the Yalta conference (in Ukraine, the Livadia Palace belonged to Tsar Nicky) where they basically set tentative goals and stuff. Stalin agreed to join against Japan (he joined on the 8th so he didn't fight much teehee) and Ukraine worked on a Kolkhoz and was poor at dirt. Churchill called Stalin a devil. The whole plotting capitalists thing was cuz Josef was sore about not being invited to a meeting that didn't involve him. Good going, guy that does what he accuses others of.
> 
> Cuban missile crisis. Basically, America had Sadik 'hold' a missile trained on Russia so Russia gave Cuba some too. There were (3) deaths during this but the politicians freaked out. Eventually the American government 'got Russia to back off us' but secretly agreed to remove their missiles too. Oh, and U.S. citizens were not informed of this for years.
> 
> Blame my trip to Dallas for including the Kennedy assassination in here. I thought it was important. Dude, they have Jack's hat on display! Ok, Lee Harvey Oswald shot three bullets, a fourth was heard, and two injures, president died of head wound. Look it up, too many conspiracies to count. But Ruby was a defector to the Soviet Union and had a Russian wife. She was really bitter and never returned to the Union… Kennedy was a no go on Détente. Johnson was sworn in on the Prez plane with a crying Jacky. Kennedy administration basically landed Apollo on the moon to spite Sputnik.
> 
> Truman was vice when Roosevelt went on his big trip before returning home to die. Truman was told on his inauguration about all this government stuff (that Stalin already knew) and ordered the nukes dropped on Japan/Nippon. He didn't like CCCP either. Geez. Real situation right there, as recorded.
> 
> Nobody likes the cursing, lying, and conspiracy helper named Nixon. He was the only one to ever resign and he did so after signing the SALT stuff.
> 
> Brezhnev had big eyebrows, Nixon did too… Ok, signed in Moscow. No pictures yielded to me for this one for some reason, though everywhere else had dozens that are saved on my phone… and in the Union; it was chill to buddy up with strangers at the diner, more so with frenemies.
> 
> Yes, Austrian and German are different. Oh, and the Soviets used Canada to get spies to America, and Czechoslovakia and Hungary were spies in their American Embassies. Espionage will be exploited next chapter too.
> 
> Yeah, that one agreement has a long name. The 'Ice-cream Palace is St. Basil's Cathedral. Pfft, yes, it was they stole the design from the Aya Sofia (blue Mosque) in Turkey.
> 
> Tom Cruise, now that that is over, please drop a review. I LOVE reviews.


End file.
